
Class. 



- 



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JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



LORD BYRON 



COUNTESS OF ^LESSINGTON. 



WITH A SKETCH OF 



THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 



BOSTON: 
"WILLIAM VEAZIE, 

62 AND 64 CORNHILL. 
M DCCC LVlX. 
18 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 

William Veazie, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



riverside, Cambridge: 

stereotyped and printed by 

h. 0. houghton and company. 



MEMOIK 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 



Marguerite, Countess of Blessington, was born at 
Knockbrit, near Clonmel, Tipperary County, Ireland, on 
the 1st of September, 1789, and was the third daughter 
of Mr. Edmund Power, who was of respectable family, 
but broken fortune and reckless habits. 

She was married in her fifteenth year to a Captain 
Farmer, but the marriage was a very unhappy one, and 
Mrs. Farmer after a time quitted his house. He was killed 
by falling from a window in the King's Bench prison 
while in a state of intoxication, and within four months 
his widow was married to the Earl of Blessington, Feb- 
ruary, 1818. After exhausting every means of enjoy- 
ment in England and Ireland, the Earl and Countess 
started in September, 1822, on a continental tour which, 
partly owing to the Earl's property having become con- 
siderably encumbered, was prolonged till his death. 

At Paris they were joined by Count Alfred D'Orsay, 
who in 1827 married a daughter of Lord Blessington by 
his first wife. It was an unhappy marriage, and a sep- 



6 MEMOIR OF THE 

aration eventually took place ; but Count D'Orsay con- 
tinued after the death of Lord Blessington to reside with 
Lady Blessington during the remainder of her life. Lord 
Blessington died at Paris in May, 1829. 

Lady Blessington on her return to London made her 
house the centre of a brilliant circle of persons of social 
and intellectual eminence. She quickly became one of 
the celebrities of London ; and for nearly twenty years 
the Salon, first of Seamore Place, and afterwards of Gore 
House, disputed the palm with those of Holland House 
as the resort of the learned, the witty, and the famous 
of the day. 

In the twelfth letter of "the Pencillings," dated 1834, 
Mr. Willis gives an account of his first visit to Lady 
Blessington in London, then residing in Seamore Place, 
certainly more graphic than any other description of her 
reunions that has been given : — 

" A friend in Italy had kindly given me a letter to 
Lady Blessington, and with a strong curiosity to see this 
celebrated authoress, I called on the second day after my 
arrival in London. It was ' deep i' the afternoon,' but I 
h'ad not yet learned the full meaning of town hours. 
' Her ladyship had not come down to breakfast.' I gave 
the letter and my address to the powdered footman, and 
had scarce reached home, when a note arrived inviting 
me to call the same evening at ten. 

" In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly- 
bound books and mirrors, and with a deep window, of 
the breadth of the room, opening upon Hyde Park, I 
found Lady Blessington alone. The picture, to my eye, 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON". 7 

as the door opened, was a very lovely one — a woman of 
remarkable beauty, half buried in a fauleuil of yellow 
satin, reading by a magnificent lamp suspended from the 
centre of the arched ceiling; sofas, couches, ottomans, 
and busts arranged in rather a crowded sumptuousness 
through the room ; enamel tables, covered w T ith expensive 
and elegant trifles in every corner, and a delicate white 
hand relieved on the back of a book, to which the eye 
was attracted by the blaze of its diamond rings. As the 
servant mentioned my name, she rose and gave me her 
hand very cordially; and a gentleman, entering imme- 
diately after, she presented me to Count D'Orsay, the 
well-known Pelham of London, and certainly the most 
splendid specimen of a man, and a well-dressed one, that 
I had ever seen. Tea was brought in immediately, and 
conversation went swimmingly on. 

" Her ladyship's inquiries were principally about 
America, of which, from long absence, I knew very little. 
She was extremely curious to know the degrees of rep- 
utation the present popular authors of England enjoy 
among us, particularly Bulwer and DTsraeli, (the author 
of ' Yivian Grey.') ' If you will come to-morrow night,' 
she said, 'you will see Bulwer. I am delighted that he 
is popular in America. He is envied and abused — for 
nothing, I believe, except for the superiority of his genius, 
and the brilliant literary success it commands ; and know- 
ing this, he chooses to assume a pride which is only the 
armor of a sensitive mind afraid of a wound. He is to 
his friends the most frank and noble creature in the world, 
and open to boyishness with those who he thinks under- 



8 MEMOIR OF THE 

stand and value him. He has a brother Henry, who is 
also very clever in*a different vein, and is just now pub- 
lishing a book on the present state of France. 

" ' Do they like the D'Israelis in America ? ' 

" I assured her ladyship that the ' Curiosities of Lit- 
erature,' by the father, and ' Vivian Grey ' and ' Con- 
tarini Fleming,' by the son, were universally known. 

" ' I am pleased at that, for I like them both. D'ls- 
raeli the elder came here with his son the other night. 
It would have delighted you to see the old man's pride 
in him, and the son's respect and affection for his father. 
D'Israeli the elder lives in the country, about twenty 
miles from town ; seldom comes up to London, and leads 
a life of learned leisure, each day hoarding up and dis- 
pensing forth treasures of literature. He is courtly, yet 
urbane, and impresses one at once with confidence in his 
goodness. In his manners, D'Israeli the younger is quite 
his own character of " Vivian Grey ; " full of genius and 
eloquence, with extreme good nature, and a perfect frank- 
ness of character.' 

" I asked if the account I had seen in some American 
paper of a literary celebration at Canandaigua, and the 
engraving of her ladyship's name with some others upon 
a rock, was not a quiz. 

" ' Oh, by no means. I was much amused by the whole 
affair. 1 have a great idea of taking a trip to America 
to see it, Then the letter, commencing, " Most charming 
Countess — for charming you must be, since you have 
written the ' Conversations of Lord Byron ' " — oh, it was 
quite delightful. I have shown it to every body. By- 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 9 

the-way, I receive a great many letters from America 
from people I never heard of, written in the most extra- 
ordinary style of compliment, apparently in perfect good 
faith. I hardly know what to make of them.' 

" I accounted for it by the perfect seclusion in which 
great numbers of cultivated people live in our country, 
who, having neither intrigue, nor fashion, nor twenty 
other things to occupy their minds, as in England, de- 
pend entirely upon books, and consider an author who 
has given them pleasure as a friend. ' America,' I said, 
1 has probably more literary enthusiasts than any country 
in the world ; and there are thousands of romantic minds 
in the interior of New England who know perfectly 
every writer on this side of the water, and hold them all 
in affectionate veneration, scarcely conceivable by a 
sophisticated European. If it were not for such read- 
ers, literature would be the most thankless of vocations ; 
I, for one, would never write another line.' 

* ' And do you think these are the people which write 
to me ? If I could think so, I should be exceedingly 
happy. A great proportion of the people of England 
are refined down to such heartlessness ; criticism, private 
and public, is so much influenced by politics, that it is 
really delightful to know there is a more generous tri- 
bunal. Indeed, I think many of our authors now are be- 
ginning to write for America. We think already a great 
deal of your praise or censure.' 

" I asked if her ladyship had known many Ameri- 
cans. 

" ' Not in London, but a great many abroad. I was 



10 MEMOIR OF THE 

with Lord Blessington in his yacht at Naples when the 
American fleet was lying there ten or eleven years ago, 
and we were constantly on board your ships. I knew 
Commodore Creighton and Captain Deacon extremely 
well, and liked- them particularly. They were with us 
frequently of an evening on board the yacht or the fri- 
gate, and I remember very well the bands playing always 
" God save the King " as we went up the side. Count 
D'Orsay here, who spoke very little English at the time, 
had a great passion for " Yankee Doodle," and it was 
always played at his request.' 

" The count, who still speaks the language with a very 
slight accent, but with a choice of words that shows him 
to be a man of uncommon tact and elegance of mind, 
inquired after several of the officers, whom I have not 
the pleasure of knowing. He seems to remember his 
visits to the frigate with great pleasure. The conversa- 
tion, after running upon a variety of topics, turned very 
naturally upon Byron. I had frequently seen the 
Countess Guiccioli on the Continent, and I asked Lady 
Blessington if she knew her. 

"'Yes, very well. We were at Genoa when they 
were living there, but we never saw her. It was at 
Rome, in the year 1828, that I first knew her, having 
formed her acquaintance at Count Funchal's, the Portu- 
guese ambassador.' 

" It would be impossible, of course, to make a full and 
fair record of a conversation of some hours. I have 
only noted one or two topics which I thought most likely 
to interest an American reader. During all this long 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. ' H 

visit, however, my eyes were very busy in finishing for 
memory a portrait of the celebrated and beautiful woman 
before me. 

" The portrait of Lady Blessington in the ' Book of 
Beauty ' is not unlike her, but it is still an unfavorable 
likeness. A picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence hung 
opposite me, taken, perhaps, at the age of eighteen, 
which is more like her, and as captivating a representa- 
tion of a just matured woman, full of loveliness and 
love, the kind of creature with whose divine sweetness 
the gazer's heart aches, as ever was drawn in the paint- 
er's most inspired hour. The original is no longer dans 
sa premiere jeunesse. Still she looks something on the 
sunny side of thirty. Her person is full, but preserves 
all the fineness of an admirable shape ; her foot is not 
pressed in a satin slipper, for which a Cinderella might 
long be sought in vain ; and her complexion (an unusu- 
ally fair skin, with very dark hair and eyebrows) is of 
even a girlish delicacy and freshness. Her dress, of 
blue satin, (if I am describing her like a milliner, it is 
because I have here and there a reader in my eye who 
will be amused by it,) was cut low, and folded across her 
bosom, in a way to show to advantage the round and 
sculpture-like curve and whiteness of a pair of exquisite 
shoulders ; while her hair, dressed close to her head, and 
parted simply on her forehead with a rich feronier of 
turquoise, enveloped in clear outline a head with which 
it would be difficult to find a fault. Her features are 
regular, and her mouth, the most expressive of them, has 
a ripe fulness and freedom of play peculiar to the Irish 



12 MEMOIR OF THE 

physiognomy, and expressive of the most unsuspicious 
good-humor. Add to all this a voice merry and sad by 
turns, but always musical, and manners of the most 
unpretending elegance, yet even more remarkable for 
their winning kindness, and you have the prominent 
traits of one of the most lovely and fascinating women I 
have ever seen. Remembering her talents and her rank, 
and the unenvying admiration she receives from the 
world of fashion and genius, it would be difficult to recon- 
cile her lot to the ' doctrine of compensation.' * 

" In the evening I kept my appointment with Lady 
Blessington. She had deserted her exquisite library for 
the drawing-room, and sat, in full dress, with six or seven 
gentlemen about her. I was presented immediately to 
all ; and when the conversation was resumed, I took the 
opportunity to remark the distinguished coterie with 
which she was surrounded. 

" Nearest me sat Smith, the author of ' Rejected Ad- 
dresses ' — a hale, handsome man, apparently fifty, with 
white hair, and a very nobly-formed head and physiog- 
nomy. His eye alone — small, and with lids contracted 
into an habitual look of drollery, betrayed the bent of 
his genius. He held a cripple's crutch in his hand, and, 
though otherwise rather particularly well-dressed, wore a 
pair of large India-rubber shoes — the penalty he was 
paying, doubtless, for the many good dinners he had 
eaten. He played rather an aside in the conversation, 
whipping in with a quiz or witticism whenever he could 
get an opportunity, but more a listener than a talker. 
* Pencillings by the Way, pp. 355, 356. 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON: 13 

" On the opposite side of Lady Blessington stood 
Henry Bulwer, the brother of the novelist, very earnestly 
engaged in a discussion of some speech of O'Connell's. 
He is said by many to be as talented as his brother, and 
has lately published a book on the present state of 
France. He is a small man ; very slight and gentleman- 
like ; a little pitted with the smallpox, and of very win- 
ning and persuasive manners. I liked him at the first 
glance. 

" A German prince, with a star on his breast, trying 
with all his might — but, from his embarrassed look, quite 
unsuccessfully — to comprehend the drift of the argu- 
ment ; the Duke de Richelieu ; a famous traveller just 
returned from Constantinople ; and the splendid person 
of Count D'Orsay, in a careless attitude upon the otto- 
man, completed the cordon. 

"I fell into conversation after a while with Smith, 
who, supposing I might not have heard the names of the 
others in the hurry of an introduction, kindly took the 
trouble to play the dictionary, and added a graphic char- 
acter of each as he named him. Among other things, 
he talked a great deal of America, and asked me if I 
knew our distinguished countryman, Washington Irving. 
I had never been so fortunate as to meet him. ' You 
have lost a great deal,' he said, ' for never was so delight- 
ful a fellow. I was once taken down with him into the 
country by a merchant to dinner. Our friend stopped 
his carriage at the gate of his park, and asked us if we 
would walk through his grounds to the house. Irving 
refused, and held me down by the coat, so that we drove 



14 MEMOIR OF THE 

on to the house together, leaving our host to follow on 
foot. ' I make it a principle,' said Irving, ' never to 
walk with a man through his own grounds. I have no 
idea of praising a thing whether I like it or not. You 
and I will do them to-morrow morning by ourselves/ 
The rest of the company had turned their attention to 
Smith as he began his story, and there was a universal 
inquiry after Mr. Irving. Indeed, the first question on 
the lips of every one to whom I am introduced as an 
American is of him and Cooper. The latter seems to 
me to be admired as much here as abroad, in spite of 
a common impression that he dislikes the nation. No 
man's works could have higher praise in the general 
conversation that followed, though several instances were 
mentioned of his having shown an unconquerable aver- 
sion to the English when in England. Lady Blessing- 
ton mentioned Mr. Bryant, and I was pleased at the 
immediate tribute paid to his delightful poetry by the 
talented circle around her. 

" Toward twelve o'clock Mr. Lytton Bulwer was an- 
nounced, and enter the author of ' Pelham.' I had made 
up my mind how he should look, and, between prints 
and descriptions, thought I could scarcely be mistaken 
in my idea of his person. No two things could be more 
unlike, however, than the ideal of Mr. Bulwer in my 
mind and the real Mr. Bulwer who followed the an- 
nouncement. I liked his manners extremely. He ran 
up to Lady Blessington with the joyous heartiness of a 
boy let out of school ; and the ' how d'ye, Bulwer ? ' 
went round, as he shook hands with every body, in the 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 15 

style of welcome usually given to ' the best fellow in the 
world.' As I had brought a letter of introduction to him 
from a friend in Italy, Lady Blessington introduced me 
particularly, and we had a long conversation about 
Naples and its pleasant society. 

"Bulwer's head is phrenologically a fine one. His 
forehead retreats very much, but is very broad and well 
marked, and the whole air is that of decided mental 
superiority. His nose is aquiline. His complexion is 
fair, his hair profuse, curly, and of a light auburn. A 
more good-natured, habitually-smiling expression could 
hardly be imagined. Perhaps my impression is an 
imperfect one, as he was in the highest spirits, and was 
not serious the whole evening for a minute — but it is 
strictly and faithfully my impression. 

" I can imagine no style of conversation calculated to 
be more agreeable than Bulwer's. Gay, quick, various, 
half-satirical, and always fresh and different from every 
body else, he seemed to talk because he could not help 
it, and infected every body with his spirits. I cannot 
give even the substance of it in a letter, for it was in a 
great measure local or personal. 

" Bulwer's voice, like his brother's, is exceedingly 
lover-like and sweet. His playful tones are quite deli- 
cious, and his clear laugh is the soul of sincere and care- 
less merriment. 

" It is quite impossible to convey in a letter, scrawled 
literally between the end of a late visit and a tempting 
pillow, the evanescent and pure spirii of a conversation 
of wits. I must confine myself, of course, in such 



16 MEMOIR OF THE 

sketches, to the mere sentiment of things that concern 
general literature and ourselves. 

" ' The Rejected Addresses' got upon his crutches about 
three o'clock in the morning, and I made my exit with 
the rest, thanking Heaven that, though in a strange coun- 
try, my mother tongue was the language of its men of 
genius. 

"Letter June 14, 1834. I was at Lady Blessington's 
at eight. Moore had not arrived, but the other persons 
of the party — a Russian count, who spoke all the lan- 
guages of Europe as well as his own ; a Roman banker, 
whose dynasty is more powerful than the Pope's; a 
clever English nobleman, and the 'observed of all ob- 
servers,' Count D'Orsay, stood in the window upon the 
park, killing, as they might, the melancholy twilight half 
hour preceding dinner. 

" Dinner was announced, the Russian handed down 
' miladi,' and I found myself seated opposite Moore, with 
a blaze of light on his Bacchus head, and the mirrors 
with which the superb octagonal room is panelled reflect- 
ing every motion .... The soup vanished in the busy 
silence that beseems it, and as the courses commenced 
their procession. Lady Blessington led the conversation 
with the brilliancy and ease for which she is remarkable 
over all the women I ever met .... 

" O'Connell was mentioned. 

" ' He is a powerful creature,' said Moore ; ' but his 
eloquence has done great harm both to England and Ire- 
land. There is nothing so powerful as oratory. The 
faculty of " thinking on his legs " is a tremendous engine 



COUNTESS OF BLESS1NGTON. 17 

in the hands of any man. There is an undue admiration 
for this faculty, and a sway permitted to it which was al- 
ways more dangerous to a country than any thing else. 

Lord A is a wonderful instance of what a man may 

do without talking. There is a general confidence in 
him — a universal belief in his honesty, which serves him 
instead. Peel is a fine speaker, but, admirable as he had 
been as an Oppositionist, he failed when he came to lead 
the House. 0' Conn ell would be irresistible, were it not 
for the two blots on his character — the contributions in 
Ireland for his support, and his refusal to give satisfac- 
tion to the man he is still willing to attack. They may 
say what they will of duelling : it is the great preserver 
of the decencies of society. The old school, which made 
a man responsible for his words, was the better. I must 
confess I think so. Then, in O'Connell's case, he had 
not made his vow against duelling when Peel challenged 
him. He accepted the challenge, and Peel went to 
Dover on his way to France, where they were to meet ; 
and O'Connell pleaded his wife's illness, and delayed till 
the law interfered. Some other Irish patriot, about the 
same time, refused a challenge on account of the illness 
of his daughter, and one of the Dublin wits made a good 
epigram on the two : — 

" Some men, with a horror of slaughter, 
Improve on the Scripture command, 
And ' honor their ' wife and their daughter, 
1 That their days may be long in the land.' " 

* The great period of Ireland's glory,' continued Moore, 

2 



18 MEMOIR OF THE 

' was between '82 and '98, and it was a time when a man 
almost lived with a pistol in his hand. Grattan's dying 
advice to his son was, " Be always ready with the pis- 
tol ! " He himself never hesitated a moment . . . .' 

" Talking of Grattan, is it not wonderful, with all the 
agitation in Ireland, we have had no such man since his 
time ? You can scarcely reckon Shiel of the calibre of 
her spirits of old, and O'Connell, with all his faults, 
stands alone in his glory. 

" The conversation I have given is a mere skeleton of 
course .... 

" This discussion may be supposed to have occupied 
the hour after Lady Blessington retired from the table ; 
for with her vanished Moore's excitement, and everybody 
else seemed to feel that light had gone out of the room. 
Her excessive beauty is less an inspiration than the won- 
drous talent with which she draws from every person 
around her his peculiar excellence. Talking better than 
any body else, and narrating, particularly, with a graphic 
power that I never saw excelled, this distinguished wo- 
man seems striving only to. make others unfold them- 
selves ; and never had diffidence a more apprehensive 
and encouraging listener. But this is a subject with 
which I should never be done. 

" We went up to coffee, and Moore brightened again 
over his chasse-cafe, and went glittering on with criti- 
cisms on Grisi, the delicious songstress now ravishing the 
world, whom he placed above all but Pasta ; and whom 
he thought, with the exception that her legs were too 
short, an incomparable creature. This introduced mu- 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 19 

sic very naturally, and with a great deal of difficulty he 
was taken to the piano. My letter is getting long, and I 
have no time to describe his singing. It is well known, 
however, that its effect is only equalled by the beauty of 
his own words ; and, for one, I could have taken him 
into my heart with my delight. He makes no attempt 
at music. It is a kind of admirable recitative, in which 
every shade of thought is syllabled and dwelt upon, and 
the sentiment of the song goes through your blood, 
warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears, 
if you have a soul -or sense in you. I have heard of 
women's fainting at a song of Moore's ; and if the bur- 
den of it answered by chance to a secret in the bosom 
of the listener, I should think, from its comparative effect 
upon so old a stager as myself, that the heart would 
break with it. 

" We all sat around the piano, and after two or three 
songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the 
keys a while, and sang ' When first I met thee ' with a 
pathos that beggars description. When the last word 
had faltered out, he rose and took Lady Blessington's 
hand, said good-night, and was gone before a word was 
uttered." * 

But Lady Blessington aspired to be something more 
than merely their hostess. She had in 1822 published 
a couple of volumes of Sketches, and in 1832 she fairly 
entered upon her career of authorship by contributing to 
the " New Monthly Magazine " a journal of conversa- 
tions with Lord Byron. She became acquainted with 
* Pencillings by the Way, pp. 360 to 367. 



20 • MEMOIR OF THE 

Lord Byron when residing on the Continent, and as she 
repeated his remarks with little reserve, the 'journal' 
excited considerable interest and was soon republished 
in a separate form. 

Dr. Madden, in his Life of Lady Blessington, thus 
narrates an account of her meeting with Lord Byron 
at Genoa. 

The 1st of April, 1823, Lady Blessington's strong de- 
sire was gratified — she saw Byron. But the lady was 
disappointed, and there is reason to believe that the lord, 
always indisposed abroad to make new acquaintances with 
his countrymen or women, was on the occasion of this in- 
terview taken by surprise, and not so highly gratified by 
it as might have been expected, when the agremens and 
personal attractions of the lady are taken into consider- 
ation. 

Lady Blessington's expression of disappointment has a 
tincture of asperity in it which is seldom, indeed, to be 
found in her observations. There are very evident ap- 
pearances of annoyance of some kind or another in the 
account given by her of this interview, occasioned either 
by the reception given her by Byron, or at some eccen- 
tricity, or absence of mind, that was unexpected, or 
apparent want of homage on his part to her beauty or 
talents on this occasion, to which custom had habituated 
her. 

It must also be observed, that the interview with her 
ladyship is described as having been sought by Lord 
Byron. It is more than probable, however, a little ruse 
was practised on his lordship to obtain it. It is stated by 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 21 

one who has a good knowledge of all the circumstances 
of this visit, that a rainy forenoon was selected for the 
drive to Byron's villa ; that shelter was necessitated, and 
that necessity furnished a plea for a visit which would 
not have been without some awkwardness under other 
circumstances. Lord Blessington, having been admitted 
at once on presenting himself at Byron's door, was on 
the point of taking his departure, apologizing for the 
briefness of the visit on account of Lady Blessington 
being left in an open carriage in the court-yard, the rain 
then falling, when Byron immediately insisted on de- 
scending with Lord Blessington, and conducting her 
ladyship into his house. 

" When we arrived," says Lady Blessington, " at the 
gate of the court-yard of the Casa Saluzzo, in the village 
of Albano,* where he resides, Lord Blessington and a 
gentleman of our party left the carriage and sent in their 
names. f They were admitted immediately, and experi- 
enced a very cordial reception from Lord Byron, who 
expressed himself delighted to see his old acquaintance. 
Byron requested to be presented to me, which led to 
Lord Blessington's avowing that I was in the carriage 
at the gate, with my sister. Byron immediately hurried 
out into the court, and I, who heard the sound of steps, 
looked through the gate, and beheld him approaching 
quickly toward the carriage without his hat, and consid- 
erably in advance of the other two gentlemen." 

* About a mile and a half from Genoa. 

f The gentleman's name will be found in a letter of Byron to Moore, 
dated 2d April, 1823. 



22 MEMOIR OF THE 

The visit was a long one ; and many questions were 
asked about old friends and acquaintances. Lady Bles- 
sington says Byron expressed warmly, at their departure, 
the pleasure which the visit had afforded him — and she 
doubted not his sincerity ; not that she would arrogate 
any merit in her party to account for his satisfaction, but 
simply because she could perceive that Byron liked to 
hear news of his old associates, and to pass them en revue, 
pronouncing sarcasms on each as he turned up in conver- 
sation. 

In a previous notice of this interview, which bears 
some internal evidence of having been written long after 
the period it refers to, lamenting over the dii -ippointment 
she felt at finding her beau ideal of a poet by no means 
realized, her ladyship observes: "Well, I never will 
allow myself to form an ideal of any person I desire to 
see, for disappointment never fails to ensue." 

Byron, she admits, had more than usual personal at- 
tractions, "but his appearance nevertheless had fallen 
short of her expectations." There is no commendation, 
however, without a concomitant effort at depreciation. 
For example, her ladyship observes, " His laugh is musi- 
cal, but he rarely indulged in it during our interview ; 
and when he did, it was quickly followed by a graver 
aspect, as if he liked not this exhibition of hilarity. 
Were I asked to point out the prominent defect of By- 
ron's manner, I should pronounce it to be a flippancy 
incompatible with the notion we attach to the author of 
Childe Harold and Manfred, and a want of self posses- 
sion and dignity that ought to characterize a man of birth 



■ COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 23 

and genius. Notwithstanding this defect, his manners 
are very fascinating — more so, perhaps, than if they 
were dignified; but he is ,too gay, too flippant for a 
poet."* 

Lady Blessington was accompanied on this occasion by 
her sister, Miss Mary Anne Power, now Comtesse de St. 
Marsault. Byron, in a letter to Moore, dated April 2, 
1823, thus refers to this interview : — 

" Your other allies, whom I have found very agreeable 
personages, are Milor Blessington and epouse, travelling 
with a very handsome companion in the shape of a 
1 French count,' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the Beaux 
Stratagem,) ,vho has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine, 
and is one of the few specimens I have seen of our ideal 
of a Frenchman before the Revolution, an old friend with 
a new face, upon whose like I never thought that we 
should look again. Miladi seems highly literary,. to 
which, and your honor's acquaintance with the family, I 
attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also 
very pretty, even in a morning — a species of beauty on 
which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the 
chandelier. Certainly English women wear better than 
their Continental neighbors of the same sex. Mountjoy 
seems very good-natured, but is much tamed since I rec- 
ollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and 
uniform, and theatricals, and speeches in our house — ' I 
mean of Peers' — I must refer you to Pope, whom you 
don't read and won't appreciate, for that quotation (which 
you must allow to be poetical) — and sitting to Stroelling, 
* Idler in Italy, p. 392. 



24 MEMOIR OF THE 

♦ 
the painter, (do you remember our visit, with Leckie, to 

the German?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of 

Agincourt, ' with his long s\?ord, saddle, bridle, "Whak fal 

de," &c. &c. 

We thus find, from the letter of Byron to his friend 
Moore, that the Blessingtons were accompanied by the 
Count Alfred D'Orsay in their visit to his lordship, and 
that he was one of the party on their arrival and at their 
departure from Genoa. 

It is probable that the arrangements for the count's 
journey to Italy with the Blessingtons had been made in 
Paris, though he did not accompany them from that city, 
but joined them first at Valence on the Rhone, and sub- 
sequently at Avignon. 

D'Orsay, who had been attached to the French army 
of the pretended expedition against Spain, abandoned his 
profession in an evil hour for the career of a mere man 
of pleasure and of fashion. 

Byron and the Blessingtons continued to live on the 
most intimate terms, we are told by Lady Blessington, 
during the stay of the latter at Genoa ; and that intimacy 
had such a happy influence on the author of Childe 
Harold, that he began to abandon his misanthropy. On 
the other hand, I am assured by the Marquise de Boissy, 
formerly Countess of Guiccioli, that the number of visits 
of Byron to Lady Blessington during the entire period 
of her sojourn in Genoa, did not exceed five or six at the 
utmost, and that Byron was by no means disposed to 
afford the opportunities that he believed were sought, to 
enable a lady of a literary turn to write about him. But 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 25 

D'Orsay, she adds, at the first interview, had struck 
Byron as a person of considerable talents and wonderful 
acquirements for a man of his age and former pursuits. 
"Byron from the first liked D'Orsay; he was clever, 
original, unpretending ; he affected to be nothing that he 
was not." 

Byron sat for his portrait to D'Orsay, that portrait 
which subsequently appeared in the " New Monthly 
Magazine," and afterward as a frontispiece of her lady- 
ship's work, " Conversations with Lord Byron." 

His lordship suffered Lady Blessington to lecture him 
in prose, and, what was worse, in verse. He endeavored 
to persuade Lord Blessington to prolong his stay in 
Genoa, and to take a residence adjoining his own named 
" II Paradiso." And a rumor of his intention to take the 
place for himself, and some good-natured friend observ- 
ing, " II diavolo e ancora entrato in Paradiso," his lord- 
ship wrote the following lines : — 

Beneath Blessington' s eyes 

The reclaimed Paradise 
Should be free as the former from evil ; 

But if the new Eve 

For an apple should grieve, 
What mortal would not play the devil ? 

But the original conceit was not in poetry. 

Lady Blessington informed me that, on the occasion 
of a masked ball to be given in Genoa, Byron stated 
his intention of going there, and asked her ladyship to 
accompany him: en badinant about the character she 
was to go in, some one had suggested that of Eve — 



26 MEMOIR OF THE 

Byron said, " As some one must play the devil, I will 
do it." 

Shortly before her departure from Genoa, Lady Bles- 
sington requested Byron to write some lines in her 
album, and, accordingly, he composed the following 
stanzas for her : — 

TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 

1. 

You have ask'd for averse: the request 
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny; 

But my Hippocrene was but my breast, 
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry. 

2. 
Were I now as I was, I had sung 

What Lawrence has painted so well ; 
But the strain would expii-e on my tongue, 

And the theme is too soft for my shell. 

3. 
I am ashes where once I was fire, 

And the bard in my bosom is dead; 
What I loved I now merely admire, 

And my heart is as gray as my head. 

4. 
My life is not dated by years — 

There are moments which act as a plow; 
And there is not a furrow appears, 

But is deep in my soul as my brow. 

5. 
Let the young and the brilliant aspire 

To sing what I gaze on in vain; 
For sorrow has torn from my lyre 

The string which was worthy the strain. 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 27 

Moore speaks of the happy influence of Lady Bles- 
sington's society over the mind of Byron : — 

" One of the most ^important services conferred upon 
Lord Byron by Lady Blessington during this intimacy, 
was that half reviving of his old regard for his wife, and 
the check which she contrived to place upon the com- 
position of Don Juan, and upon the continuation of its 
most glaring immoralities. He spoke of Ada; her 
mother, he said, 'has feasted on the smiles of her infancy 
and growth, but the tears of her maturity shall be mine/ 
Lady Blessington told him that if he so loved his child, 
he should never write a line that could bring a blush of 
shame to her cheek, or a sorrowing tear to her eye ; and 
he said, ' You are right ; I never recollected this. I am 
jealously tenacious of the undivided sympathy of my 
daughter ; and that work, (Don Juan,) written to beguile 
hours of tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to 
loosen my hold on her affections. I will write no more 
of it — would that I had never written a line.' In this 
gentler mind, with old loves, old times, and the tenderest 
love that human heart can know, all conducing to soothe 
his pride and his dislike of Lady Byron, he learned that 
a near friend of her ladyship was in Genoa, and he re- 
quested Lady Blessington to procure for him, through 
this friend, a portrait of his wife. He had heard that 
Lady Byron feared he was about to come to England for 
the purpose of claiming his child. In requesting the 
portrait and in refuting the report, fie addressed the fol- 
lowing letter to Lady Blessington :-*— 



28 MEMOIR OF THE 

" ' May 3. 1823. 

" ' Dear Lady Blessington : My request would be 
for a copy of the miniature of Lady B. which I have 
seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no 
picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as 
all her letters were in her own possession before I left 
England, and we have had no correspondence since — at 
least on her part. My message with regard to the infant 
is simply to this effect, that in the event of any accident 
occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor, 
it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect, 
both with regard to the education of the child, and the 
person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be 
desirous that she should be placed. It is not my inten- 
tion to interfere with her in any way on the subject 
during her life ; and I presume that it would be some 
consolation to her to know (if she is in ill health, as I am 
given to understand,) that in no case would any thing be 
done, as far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity 
with Lady B's own wishes and intentions, left in what 
manner she thought proper. Believe me, dear Lady B., 
your obliged,' " &c. 

At length, in the early part of June, 1823, the Bles- 
singtons took their departure from Genoa, and Moore 
tells us how the separation affected Byron : — 

" On the evening before the departure of his friends, 
Lord and Lady Blessington, from Genoa, he called upon 
them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat conversing 
for some time. He was evidently in low spirits, and after 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. ' 29 

expressing his regret that they should leave Genoa be- 
fore his own time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his 
own intended voyage in a tone full of despondence. 
' Here/ said he, ' we are all now together ; but when, 
and where, shall we meet again ? I have a sort of boding 
that we see each other for the last time ; as something 
tells me I shall never again return from Greece.' Hav- 
ing continued a little longer in this melancholy strain, he 
leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on which they 
were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some 
minutes with uncontrollable feeling. Though he had 
been talking only with Lady Blessington, all who were 
present in the room observed, and were affected by, his 
emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his 
weakness, endeavored to turn off attention from it by 
some ironical remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical 
laugh, upon the effects of nervousness. He had, previous 
to this conversation, presented to each of the party some 
little farewell gift — a book to one, a print from his bust 
by Bartolini to another, and to Lady Blessington a copy 
of his Armenian Grammar, which had some manuscript 
remarks of his own on the leaves. In now parting with 
her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle which she 
had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings ; in return 
for which he took a pin from his breast, containing a 
small cameo of Napoleon, which he said had long been 
his companion, and presented it to her ladyship. The 
next day Lady Blessington received from him the fol- 
lowing note : — 



30 MEMOIR OF THE 

" ' Albaro, June 2, 1823. 

" ' My dear Lady Blessington : I am supersti- 
tious, and have recollected that memorials with a point 
are of less fortunate augury : I will, therefore, request 
you to accept, instead of the pin, the inclosed chain, 
which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. 
As you wished for something worn, I can only say that 
it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. It 
is of Venetian manufacture, and the only peculiarity 
about it is that it could only be obtained at or from 
Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same kind. I 
also inclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to keep ; 
it is too large to wear ; but it is formed of lava, and so far 
adapted to the fire of his years and character. You will 
perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of 
this note, and send back the pin, (for good luck's sake,) 
which I shall value much more for having been a night 
in your custody. Ever faithfully your obliged, &c. 

" ' P S. — I hope your nerves are well to-day, and will 
continue to flourish.' " 

Lady Blessington continued to write for the press with 
little intermission. She wrote a great many novels of 
winch " The Repealers," was the first in point of time ; 
and the "Victim of Society," the "Two Friends," and 
the " Belle of a Season," were the most popular. 

When portraying the habits of fashionable society she 
was on familiar ground, and could write with effect ; 
when she treated of subjects of more general interest she 
lost her power. 



COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 31 

One of her most pleasant books after the " Conversa- 
tions with Lord Byron," is her " Idler in Italy," published 
in two volumes in 1839. 

To this literary industry Lady Blessington was in- 
cited by pecuniary necessity, brought about by her 
splendid style of living. But both her jointure and her 
literary earnings proved insufficient to meet her expendi- 
ture ; and when the famine in Ireland cut off in a great 
measure the returns of the Blessington property, it 
became necessary in 1849, to dispose of the costly fittings 
and furniture of Gore House. 

Count D'Orsay had gone to Paris in the hope, as was 
understood, of obtaining a post under Louis Napoleon, 
with whom he had been on terms of much intimacy. 
Lady Blessington followed him in April, 1849, and died 
at Paris almost suddenly on the 4th of June, 1849. 
Count D'Orsay died at Paris, August 4, 1852. 



CONVERSATIONS 



LORD BYRON 



PEEFACE. 



The deep and general interest with which every 
detail connected with Lord Byron has been re- 
ceived by the public, induced the writer to publish 
her Conversations with him. She was for a long 
time undecided as to adopting this measure, fear- 
ful that, by the invidious, it might be considered 
as a breach of confidence ; but as Boswell's and 
Mrs. Piozzi's disclosures, relative to Dr. Johnson, 
were never viewed in this light, and as Lord By- 
ron never gave, or implied, the slightest injunction 
to secrecy, she hopes that she may equally escape 
such an imputation. 

The many pages suppressed, filled with poems, 
epigrams, and sallies of Lord Byron, in which 
piquancy and wit are more evident than good- 
nature, bear testimony, that a wish to avoid 
wounding the feelings of the living, or to cast a 
darker shade over the reputation of the dead, has 
influenced the writer much more than the desire 
to make an amusing book; and she trusts that, 
in portraying Lord Byron, if she has proved her- 
self an unskilful, she incurs not the censure of 
being considered an unfaithful, limner. 



CONVERSATIONS 



LORD BYRON 



Genoa, April 1, 1823. — Saw Lord Byron for the 
first time. The impression, for the first few min- 
utes, disappointed me ; as I had, both from the 
portraits and descriptions given, conceived a dif- 
ferent idea of him. I had fancied him taller, with 
a more dignified and commanding air ; and I 
looked in vain for the hero-looking sort of person 
with whom I had so long identified him in imag- 
ination. His appearance is, however, highly pre- 
possessing ; his head is finely shaped, and the 
forehead open, high, and noble ; his eyes are gray 
and full of expression, but one is visibly larger 
than the other; the nose is large and well shaped, 
but, from being a little too thick, it looks better in 
profile than in front-face ; his mouth is the most 
remarkable feature in his face, the upper lip of 
Grecian shortness, and the corners descending ; 



38 JOUKNAL OF CONVEESATIONS 

the lips full, and finely cut. In speaking, he 
shows his teeth very much, and they are white 
and even ; but I observed that even in his smile — 
and he smiles frequently — there is something of 
a scornful expression in his mouth that is evi- 
dently natural, and not, as many suppose, af- 
fected. This particularly struck me. His chin 
is large and well shaped, and finishes well the 
oval of his face. He is extremely thin, indeed so 
much so that his figure has almost a boyish air ; 
his face is peculiarly pale, but not the paleness 
of ill-health, as its character is that of fairness — 
the fairness of a dark-haired person ; and his hair 
(which is getting rapidly gray) is of a very dark 
brown, and curls naturally ; he uses a good deal 
of oil in it, which makes it look still darker. His 
countenance is full of expression, and changes 
with the subject of conversation ; it gains on the 
beholder the more it is seen, and leaves an agree- 
able impression. I should say that melancholy 
was its prevailing character ; as I observed that, 
when any observation elicited a smile — and they 
were many, as the conversation was gay and 
playful — it appeared to linger but for a moment 
on his lip, which instantly resumed its former 
expression of seriousness. His whole appearance 
is remarkably gentleman-like, and he owes nothing 
of this to his toilet, as his coat appears to have 



WITH LOED BYKON. 39 

been many years made, is much too large — and 
all his garments convey the idea of having been 
purchased ready-made, so ill do they fit him. 
There is a gaucherie in his movements, which 
evidently proceeds from the perpetual conscious- 
ness of his lameness, that appears to haunt him ; 
for he tries to conceal his foot when seated, and, 
when walking, has a nervous rapidity in his man- 
ner. He is very slightly lame, and the deformity 
of his foot is so little remarkable, that I am not 
now aware which foot it is. His voice and ac- 
cent are peculiarly agreeable, but effeminate — 
clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that, though 
his general tone in speaking is rather low than 
high, not a word is lost. His manners are as 
unlike my preconceived notions of them as is his 
appearance. I had expected to find him a digni- 
fied, cold, reserved, and haughty person, resem- 
bling those mysterious personages he so loves to 
paint in his works, and with whom he has been 
so often identified by the good-natured world ; 
but nothing can be more different ; for were I to 
point out the prominent defect of Lord Byron, I 
should say it was flippancy, and a total want of 
that natural self-possession and dignity which 
ought to characterize a man of birth and edu- 
cation. 

Albaro, the village in which the Casa Saluzzo, 



40 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

where he lives, is situated, is about a mile and a 
half distant from Genoa ; it is a fine old palazzo, 
commanding an extensive view, and with spa- 
cious apartments, the front looking into a court- 
yard and the back into the garden. The room in 
which Lord Byron received us was large, and 
plainly furnished. A small portrait of his daugh- 
ter Ada, with an engraved portrait of himself, 
taken from one of his works, struck my eye. 
Observing that I remarked that of his daughter, 
he took it down, and seemed much gratified when 
I discovered the strong resemblance it bore to 
him. Whilst holding it in his hand, he said : " I 
am told she is clever — I hope not ; and, above 
all, I hope she is not poetical ; the price paid for 
such advantages, if advantages they be, is such 
as to make me pray that my child may escape 
them." 

The conversation, during our first interview, 
was chiefly about our mutual English friends, 
some of whom he spoke of with kind interest. 
T. Moore, D. Kinnaird, and Mr. E. Ellice, were 
among those whom he most distinguished. He 
expressed himself greatly annoyed by the num- 
ber of travelling English who pestered him with 
visits, the greater part of whom he had never 
known, or was but slightly acquainted with ; 
which obliged him to refuse receiving any, but 



WITH LOED BYRON. 41 

those he particularly wished to see. " But," 
added he, smiling, "they avenge themselves, by 
attacking me in every sort of way, and there is 
no story too improbable for the craving appetites 
of our slander-loving countrymen." 

Before taking leave, he proposed paying us a 
visit next day; and he handed me into the car- 
riage with many flattering expressions of the 
pleasure our visit had procured him. 

April 2. — We had scarcely finished our dejeune 
a la fourchette this day when Lord Byron was 
announced ; he sent up two printed cards in an 
envelop addressed to us, and soon followed them. 
He appeared still more gay and cheerful than the 
day before — made various inquiries about all our 
mutual friends in England — spoke of them with 
affectionate interest, mixed with a badinage in 
which none of their little defects were spared ; 
indeed, candor obliges me to own that their de- 
fects seemed to have made a deeper impression 
on his mind than their good qualities, (though he 
allowed all the latter,) by the gusto with which 
he entered into them. 

He talked of our mutual friend Moore, and of 
his " Lalla Rookh," which, he said, though very 
beautiful, had disappointed him ; adding, that 
Moore would go down to posterity by his Melo- 
dies, which were all perfect. He said that he had 



42 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

never been so much affected as on hearing Moore 
sing some of them, particularly " When I first 
met thee," which, he said, made him shed tears. 
" But," added he, with a look full of archness, 
" it was after I had drunk a certain portion of 
very potent white brandy." As he laid a pecu- 
liar stress on the word affected, I smiled, and the 
sequel of the white brandy made me smile again ; 
he asked rne the cause, and I answered that his 
observation reminded me of the story of a lady 
offering her condolence to a poor Irishwoman on 
the death of her child, who stated that she had 
never been more afTected than on the event ; the 
poor woman, knowing the hollowness of the 
compliment, answered, with all the quickness of 
her country, " Sure, then, ma'am, that is saying 
a great deal, for you were always afTected." Lord 
Byron laughed, and said my apropos was very 
wicked, but I maintained it was very just. He 
spoke much more warmly of Moore's social at- 
tractions as a companion, which he said were 
unrivalled, than of his merits as a poet. 

He offered to be our cicerone in pointing out 
all the pretty drives and rides about Genoa ; re- 
commended riding as the only means of seeing 
the country, many of the fine points of view 
being inaccessible, except on horseback ; and he 
praised Genoa on account of the rare advantage 



WITH LOED BYRON. 43 

it possessed of having so few English, either as 
inhabitants or birds of passage. 

I was this day again struck by the flippancy 
of his manner of talking of persons for whom I 
know he expresses, nay, for whom I believe he 
feels a regard. Something of this must have 
shown itself in my manner, for he laughingly 
observed that he was afraid he should lose my 
good opinion by his frankness ; but that when 
the fit was on him he could not help saying what 
he thought, though he often repented it when too 
late. 

He talked of Mr. , from whom he had re- 
ceived a visit the day before, praised his looks, 
and the insinuating gentleness of his manners, 
which, he observed, lent a peculiar charm to the 
little tales he repeated : he said that he had given 
him more London scandal than he heard since he 
left England ; observed that he had quite talent 
enough to render his malice very piquant and 
amusing, and that his imitations were admirable. 
" How can his mother do without him ? " said 
Byron ; " with his espieglerie and malice, he must 
be an invaluable coadjutor ; and Venus without 
Cupid could not be more delaissee than Milady 
without this her legitimate son." 

He said that he had formerly felt very partial 
to Mr. ; his face was so handsome, and his 



44 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

countenance so ingenuous, that it was impossible 
not to be prepossessed in his favor ; added to 
which, one hoped that the son of such a father 
could never entirely degenerate : " he has, how- 
ever, degenerated sadly," said Byron, " but as he 
is yet young, he may improve ; though to see a 
person of his age and sex so devoted to gossip 
and scandal, is rather discouraging to those who 
are interested in his welfare." 

He talked of Lord ; praised his urbanity, 

his talents, and acquirements ; but above all, his 
sweetness of temper and good-nature. " Indeed 

I do love Lord ," said Byron, " though the 

pity I feel for his domestic thraldom has some- 
thing in it akin to contempt. Poor dear man ! 
he is sadly bullied by Milady ; and, what is worst 
of all, half her tyranny is used on the plea of 
kindness and taking care of his health. Hang 
such kindness ! say I. She is certainly the most 
imperious, dictatorial person I know — is always 
en reine ; which, by the by, in her peculiar posi- 
tion, shows tact, for she suspects that were she to 
quit the throne she might be driven to the ante- 
chamber ; however, with all her faults, she is not 
vindictive — as a proof, she never extended her 
favor to me until after the little episode respecting 
her in ' English Bards ; ' nay more, I suspect I 
owe her friendship to it. Rogers persuaded me 



WITH LORD BYKON. 45 

to suppress the passage in the other editions. 

After all, Lady has one merit, and a great 

one in my eyes, which is, that in this age of cant 
and humbug, and in a country — I mean our own 
dear England — where the cant of Virtue is the 
order of the day, she has contrived, without any 
great resemblance of it, merely by force of — shall 
I call it impudence or courage ? — not only to get 
herself into society, but absolutely to give the 
law to her own circle. She passes, also, for 
being clever ; this, perhaps owing to my dulness, 
I never discovered, except that she has a way, 
en reine, of asking questions that show some 
reading. The first dispute I ever had with Lady 
Byron, was caused by my urging her to visit 

Lady ; and^ what is odd enough," laughing 

with bitterness, " our first and last difference was 
caused by two very worthless women." 

Observing that we appeared surprised at the 
extraordinary frankness, to call it by no harsher 
name, with which he talked of his ci-devant 
friends, he added : " Don't think the worse of 
me for what I have said : the truth is, I have 
witnessed such gross selfishness and want of 
feeling in Lady that I cannot resist speak- 
ing my sentiments of her." — I observed : " But 
are you not afraid she will hear what you say of 
her ? " — He answered : " Were she to hear it she 



46 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

would act the amiable, as she always does to 
those who attack her ; while to those who are 
attentive, and court her, she is insolent beyond 
bearing." 

Having sat with us above two hours, and ex- 
pressed his wishes that we might prolong our 
stay at Genoa, he promised to dine with us on 
the following Thursday, and took his leave, laugh- 
ingly apologizing for the length of his visit, add- 
ing, that he was such a recluse, and had lived so 
long out of the world, that he had quite forgotten 
the usages of it. 

He on all occasions professes a detestation of 
what he calls cant; and says it will banish from 
England all that is pure and good ; and that 
while people are looking after the shadow, they 
lose the substance of goodness ; he says, that the 
best mode left for conquering it, is to expose it 
to ridicule, the only weapon, added he, that the 
English climate cannot rust. He appears to 
know every thing that is going on in England ; 
takes a great interest in the London gossip ; and 
while professing to read no new publications, be- 
trays, in various ways, a perfect knowledge of 
every new work. 

" April 2, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I send you to-day's (the 
latest) ' Galignani.' My banker tells me, however, 



WITH LOED BYKON. 47 

that his letters from Spain state, that two regi- 
ments have revolted, which is a great vex, as they 
say in Ireland. I shall be very glad to see your 
friend's journal. He seems to have all the quali- 
ties requisite to have figured in his brother-in- 
law's ancestor's Memoirs. I did not think him 
old enough to have served in Spain, and must 
have expressed myself badly. On the contrary, 
he has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine y and 
promises to have it for some time to come. I 

beg to present my respects to Lady B , and 

ever am your obliged and faithful servant, 

" Noel Byron." 

When Lord Byron came to dine with us on 
Thursday, he arrived an hour before the usual 
time, and appeared in good spirits. He said that 
he found the passages and stairs filled with peo- 
ple, who stared at him very much ; but he did 
not seem vexed at this homage, for so it certainly 
was meant, as the Albergo della Villa, where we 
resided, being filled with English, all were curious 
to see their distinguished countryman. He was 
very gay at dinner, ate of most of the dishes, ex- 
pressed pleasure at partaking of a plum pudding, 
a PAnglaise, made by one of our English ser- 
vants ; was helped twice, and observed, that he 
hoped he should not shock us by eating so much. 



48 JOUENAL OF CONVEESATIONS 

" But," added he, « the truth is, that for several 
months I have been following a most abstemious 
regime, living almost entirely on vegetables ; and 
now that I see a good dinner, I cannot resist 
temptation, though to-morrow I shall suffer for 
my gourmandize, as I always do when I indulge 
in luxuries." He drank a few glasses of cham- 
pagne, saying, that as he considered it a jour de 
fete, he would eat, drink, and be merry. 

He talked of Mr. , who was then our 

Minister at Genoa. " H ," said he, " is a 

thorough good-natured and hospitable man, keeps 
an excellent table, and is as fond of good things 
as I am, but has not my forbearance. I received 
some time ago, a pate de Perigord, and finding 
it excellent, I determined on sharing it with 
H ; but here my natural selfishness sug- 
gested that it would be wiser for me, who had so 
few dainties, to keep this for myself, than to give 

it to H , who had so many. After half an 

hour's debate between selfishness and generosity, 
which do you think (turning to me) carried the 
point ? " — I answered, " Generosity, of course." — 
" No, by Jove ! " said he, " no such thing ; selfish- 
ness in this case, as in most others, triumphed : 

I sent the pdte to my friend H , because I 

felt that another dinner of it would play the 
deuce with me ; and so you see, after all, he 



WITH LORD BYRON. 49 

owed the pdte more to selfishness than gen- 
erosity." Seeing us smile at this he said : 
" When you know me better you will find that 
I am the most selfish person in the world ; I 
have, however, the merit, if it be one, of not 
only being perfectly conscious of my faults, but 
of never denying them ; and this surely is some- 
thing, in this age of cant and hypocrisy." 

The journal to which Lord Byron refers was 
written by one of our party, and Lord Byron, 
having discovered its existence, and expressed a 

desire to peruse it, the writer confided it to him.* 

***** 

" April 14, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I was not in the way when 
your note came. I have only time to thank you, 
and to send the ' Galignani's.' My face is better 
in fact, but worse in appearance, with a very 
scurvy aspect ; but I expect it to be well in a 
day or two. I will subscribe to the Improving 
Society. 

" Yours in haste, but ever, 

" Noel Byron." 

" April 22, 1823. 

" Milor : I received your billet at dinner, 
which was a good one — with a sprinkling of 

* See Moore's Life, vol. ii. p. 686, 4to edition. Here also follow 
several letters in Moore's Byron. 
4 



50 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

female foreigners, who, I dare say, were very- 
agreeable. As I have formed a sullen resolution 
about presentations, which I never break, (above 

once a month,) I begged to dispense me 

from being introduced, and intrigued for myself a 
place as far remote as possible from his fair guests, 
and very near a bottle of the best wine to confirm 
my misogyny. After coffee, I had accomplished 
my retreat as far as the hall, on full tilt towards 
your the, which I was very eager to partake of, 

when I was arrested by requesting that I 

would make my bow to the French Ambassa- 
dress, who it seems is a Dillon, Irish, but born or 
bred in America ; has been pretty, and is a blue, 
and of course entitled to the homage of all per- 
sons who have been printed. I returned, and it 

was then too late to detain Miss P over 

the tea-urn. I beg you to accept my regrets, 
and present my regards to Milady, and Miss 

P , and Comte Alfred, and believe me ever 

yours, 

« Noel Byron." 

"April 23, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I thank you for quizzing me 
and my 'learned Thebans.' I assure you, my 
notions on that score are limited to getting away 
with a whole skin, or sleeping quietly with a bro- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 51 

ken one, in some of my old Glens where I used 
to dream in my former excursions. I should pre- 
fer a gray Greek stone over me to Westminster 
Abbey; but I doubt if I shall have the luck to 
die so happily. A lease of my ' body's length ' is 
all the land which I should covet in that quarter. 
" What the Honorable Dug* and his Committee 
may decide, I do not know, and still less what I 
may decide (for I am not famous for decision) 
for myself; but if I could do any good in any 
way, I should be happy to contribute thereto, and 
without eclat. I have seen enough of that in my 
time, to rate it at its value. I wish you were 
upon that Committee, for I think you would set 
them going one way or the other ; at present they 
seem a little dormant. I dare not venture to dine 
with you to-morrow, nor indeed any day this 
week; for three days of dinners during the last 
seven days, have made me so head-achy and 
sulky, that it will take me a whole Lent to sub- 
side again into any thing like independence of 
sensation from the pressure of materialism. * * * 
But I shall take my chance of finding you the first 
fair morning for a visit. Ever yours, 

"Noel Byron." 

" May 7, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I return the poesy, which 

* His abridgment for Douglas Kinnaird. 



52 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

will form a new light to lighten the Irish, and 
will, I hope, be duly appreciated by the public. I 
have not returned MiledVs verses, because I am 
not aware of the error she mentions, and see no 
reason for the alteration ; however, if she insists, 
I must be conformable. I write in haste, having 
a visitor. 

" Ever yours, very truly, 

" Noel Byron." 

" May 14, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I avize you that the Read- 
ing Association have received numbers of English 
publications, which you may like to see, and as 
you are a member, should avail yourself of early. 
I have just returned my share before its time, 
having kept the books one day instead of Jive, 
which latter is the utmost allowance. The rules 

obliged me to forward it to a Monsieur G , as 

next in rotation. If you have any thing for Eng- 
land, a gentleman with some law papers of mine 
returns there to-morrow (Thursday) and would 
be happy to convey any thing for you. Ever 
yours, and truly, 

"Noel Byron. 

" P. S. I request you to present my compli- 
ments to Lady Blessington, Miss ^ower, and 
Comte D'Orsay." 



WITH LORD BYEON. 53 

" May 23, 1823. 

"My dear Lord: I thought that I had an- 
swered your note. I ought, and beg you to 
excuse the omission. I should have called, but I 
thought my chance of finding you at home in the 
environs, greater than at the hotel. * * * I 
hope you will not take my not dining with you 
again after so many dinners, ill ; but the truth 
is, that your banquets are too luxurious for my 
habits, and I feel the effect of them in this warm 
weather for some time after. I am sure you will 
not be angry, since I have already more than suf- 
ficiently abused your hospitality. * * * I fear 
that I can hardly afford more than two thousand 
francs for the steed in question, as I have to 
undergo considerable expenses at this present 
time, and I suppose that will not suit you. I 
must not forget to pay my Irish Subscription. 
My remembrances to Miledi, and to Alfred, and 

to Miss P . Ever yours, 

" Noel Byron." 

" May 24, 1823. 

" My dear Lord : I find that I was elected a 
Member of the Greek Committee in March, but 
did not receive the Chairman's notice till yester- 
day, and this by mere chance, and through a 
private hand. I am doing all I can to get away, 
and the Committee and my friends in England 



54 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

seem both to approve of my going up into 
Greece; but I meet here with obstacles, which 
have hampered and put me out of spirits, and 
still keep me in a vexatious state of uncertainty. 
I began bathing the other day, but the water was 
still chilly, and in diving for a Genoese lira in 
clear but deep water, I imbibed so much water 
through my ears, as gave me a megrim in my 
head, which you will probably think a super- 
fluous malady. 

" Ever yours, obliged and truly, 

" Noel Byron." 

In all his conversations relative to Lady Byron, 
and they are frequent, he declares that he is 
totally unconscious of the cause of her leaving 
him, but suspects that the ill-natured interposition 
of Mrs. Charlemont led to it. It is a strange 
business! He declares that he left no means 
untried to effect a reconciliation, and always adds 
with bitterness, " A day will arrive when I shall 
be avenged. I feel that I shall not live long, and 
when the grave has closed over me, what must 
she feel!" All who wish well to Lady Byron 
must desire that she should not survive her hus- 
band, for the all-atoning grave, that gives oblivion 
to the errors of the dead, clothes those of the 
living in such sombre colors to their own too-late 



WITH LORD BYRON. 55 

awakened feelings, as to render them wretched 
for life, and more than avenges the real or 
imagined wrongs of those we have lost for ever. 

When Lord Byron was praising the mental 
and personal qualifications of Lady Byron, I 
asked him how all that he now said agreed with 
certain sarcasms supposed to bear a reference to 
her, in his works. He smiled, shook his head, 
and said they were meant to spite and vex her, 
when he was wounded and irritated at her refus- 
ing to receive or answer his letters ; that he was 
not sincere in his implied censures, and that he 
was sorry he had written them ; but notwithstand- 
ing this regret, and all his good resolutions to 
avoid similar sins, he might on renewed provo- 
cation recur to the same vengeance, though 
he allowed it was petty and unworthy of him. 
Lord Byron speaks of his sister, Mrs. Leigh, con- 
stantly, and always with strong expressions of 
affection ; he says she is the most faultless person 
he ever knew, and that she was his only source 
of consolation in his troubles on the separation. 

Byron is a great talker ; his flippancy ceases in 
a tete-a-tete, and he becomes sententious, aban- 
doning himself to the subject, and seeming to 
think aloud, though his language has the appear- 
ance of stiffness, and is quite opposed to the 
trifling chit-chat that he enters into when in gen- 



56 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

eral society. I attribute this to his having lived 
so much alone, as also to the desire he now pro- 
fesses of applying himself to prose writing. He 
affects a sort of Johnsonian tone, likes very much 
to be listened to, and seems to observe the effect 
he produces on his hearer. In mixed society his 
ambition is to appear the man of fashion; he 
adopts a light tone of badinage and persiflage 
that does not sit gracefully on him, but is always 
anxious to turn the subject to his own personal 
affairs, or feelings, which are either lamented with 
an air of melancholy, or dwelt on with playful ridi- 
cule, according to the humor he happens to be in. 

A friend of ours, Colonel M , having arrived 

at Genoa, spent much of his time with us. 
Lord Byron soon discovered this, and became 
shy, embarrassed in his manner, and out of 
humor. The first time I had an opportunity of 
speaking to him without witnesses was on the 
road to Nervi, on horseback, when he asked me 
if I had not observed a great change in him. I 
allowed that I had, and asked him the cause ; and 

he told me, that knowing Colonel M to be a 

friend of Lady Byron's, and believing him to be 
an enemy of his, he expected that he would 
endeavor to influence us against him, and finally 
succeed in depriving him of our friendship ; and 
that this was the cause of his altered manner. I 



WITH LOED BYRON. 57 

endeavored, and at length succeeded, to convince 
him that Colonel M was too good and honor- 
able a man to do any thing spiteful or ill-natured, 
and that he never spoke ill of him ; which seemed 

to gratify him. He told me that Colonel M 's 

sister was the intimate and confidential friend of 
Lady Byron, and that through this channel I might 
be of great use to him, if I would use my influence 

with Colonel M , to make his sister write to 

Lady Byron for a copy of her portrait, which he 
had long been most anxious to possess. Colonel 

M , after much entreaty, consented to write to 

his sister on the subject, but on the express con- 
dition that Lord Byron should specify on paper 
his exact wishes ; and I wrote to Lord Byron to 
this effect, to which letter I received the following 
answer. I ought to add, that in conversation I 
told Lord Byron that it was reported that Lady 
Byron was in delicate health, and also that it was 
said she was apprehensive that he intended to 
claim his daughter, or to interfere in her educa- 
tion ; he refers to this in the letter which I copy.* 
Talking of literary women, Lord Byron said 
that Madame de Stael was certainly the clever- 
est, though not the most agreeable woman he had 
ever known. " She declaimed to you instead of 
conversing with you," said he, " never pausing 

* Here follow the letters in Moore's Journal, pp. 644-6. 



58 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

except to take breath ; and if during that interval 
a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did 
not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her 
discourse as though it had not been interrupted." 
This observation from Byron was amusing 
enough, as we had all made nearly the same 
observation on him, with the exception that he 
listened to, and noticed, any answer made to his 
reflections. " Madame de Stael," continued By- 
ron, " was very eloquent when her imagination 
warmed, (and a very little excited it ;) her pow- 
ers of imagination were much stronger than her 
reasoning ones, perhaps owing to their being 
much more frequently exercised ; her language 
was recondite, but redundant ; and though al- 
ways flowery, and often brilliant, there was an 
obscurity that left the impression that she did not 
perfectly understand what she endeavoured to 
render intelligible to others. She was always 
losing herself in philosophical disquisition, and 
once she got entangled in the mazes of the laby- 
rinth of metaphysics ; she had no clue by which 
she could guide her path — the imagination that 
led her into her difficulties could not get her out 
of them ; the want of a mathematical education, 
which might have served as a ballast to steady 
and help her into the port of reason, was always 
visible, and though she had great tact in conceal- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 59 

ing her defeat, and covering a retreat, a tolerable 
logician must have always discovered the scrapes 
she got into. Poor dear Madame de Stael ! I 
shall never forget seeing her one day, at table 
with a large party, when the busk (I believe you 
ladies call it) of her corset forced its way through 
the top of the corset, and would not descend 
though pushed by all the force of both hands of 
the wearer, who became crimson from the opera- 
tion. After fruitless efforts, she turned in despair 
to the valet de chambre behind her chair and re- 
quested him to draw it out, which could only be 
done by his passing his hand from behind over 
her shoulder, and across her chest, when, with a 
desperate effort, he unsheathed the busk. Had 
you seen the faces of some of the English ladies 
of the party, you would have been, like me, al- 
most convulsed ; while Madame remained per- 
fectly unconscious that she had committed any 
solecism on la decence Anglaise. Poor Madame 
de Stael verified the truth of the lines — 

Qui de son sexe n'a pas l'esprit, 
De son sexe a tout le malheur. 

She thought like a man, but, alas ! she felt like a 
woman ; as witness the episode in her life with 
Monsieur Rocca, which she dared not avow. (I 
mean her marriage with him,) because she was 
more jealous of her reputation as a writer than a 



60 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

woman, and the faiblesse de cceur, this alliance 
proved she had not courage to affiche. A friend 
of hers, and a compatriot into the bargain, whom 
she believed to be one of the most adoring of her 
worshippers, gave me the following epigrams : — 

SUR LA GROSSESSE DE MADAME DE STAEL. 

Quel esprit ! quel talent ! quel sublime genie ! 

En elle tout aspire a l'immortalite; 

Et jusqu'a son hydropisie, 

Rien n'est perdu pour la posterite. 

PORTRAIT DE MADAME DE STAEL. 

Armande a pour esprit des momens de dedire, 
Armande a pour vertu le mepiis des appas : 
Elle craint le railleur que sans cesse elle inspire, 
Elle evite l'amant que ne la cherche pas: 
Puisqu'elle n'a point l'art de cacher son visage, 
Et.qu'elle a la fureur de montrer son esprit, 
II faut la defier de cesser d'etre sage 
Et d' entendre ce qu'elle dit. 

" The giving the epigrams to me, a brother of 
the craft of authors, was worthy of a friend, and 
was another proof, if proof were wanting, of the 
advantages of friends : — 

No epigram such pointed satire lends 

As does the memory of our faithful friends. 

I have an exalted opinion of friendship, as you 
see. You look incredulous, but you will not only 
give me credit for being sincere in this opinion, 
but one day arrive at the same conclusion your- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 61 

self. ' Shake not thy jetty locks at me ; ' ten 
years hence, if we both live so long, you will al- 
low that I am right, though you now think me a 
cynic for saying all this. Madame de Stael," 
continued Byron, " had peculiar satisfaction in 
impressing on her auditors the severity of the 
persecution she underwent from Napoleon ; a 
certain mode of enraging her, was to appear to 
doubt the extent to which she wished it to be be- 
lieved this had been pushed, as she looked on the 
persecution as a triumphant proof of her literary 
and political importance, which she more than in- 
sinuated Napoleon feared might subvert his gov- 
ernment. This was a weakness, but a common 
one. One half of the clever people of the world 
believe they are hated and persecuted, and the 
other half imagine they are admired and beloved. 
Both are wrong, and both false conclusions are 
produced by vanity, though that vanity is the 
strongest which believes in the hatred and per- 
secution, as it implies a belief of extraordinary 
superiority to account for it." 

I could not suppress the smile that Byron's re- 
flections excited, and, with his usual quickness, he 
instantly felt the application I had made of them 
to himself, for he blushed, and half angry, and 
half laughing, said : " Oh ! I see what you are 
smiling at ; you think that I have described my 



62 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

own case, and proved myself guilty of vanity." 
I allowed that I thought so, as he had a thousand 
times repeated to me, that he was feared and de- 
tested in England, which I never would admit. 
He tried various arguments to prove to me that it 
was not vanity, but a knowledge of the fact, that 
made him believe himself detested ; but I, con- 
tinuing to smile, and look incredulous, he got 
really displeased, and said : " You have such a 
provoking memory, that you compare notes of all 
one's different opinions, so that one is sure to get 
into a scrape." Byron observed, that he once told 
Madame de Stael that he considered her " Del- 
phine " and " Corinne " as very dangerous produc- 
tions to be put into the hands of young women. 
I asked him how she received this piece of can- 
dor, and he answered : " Oh ! just as all such can- 
did avowals are received — she never forgave me 
for it. She endeavored to prove to me, that au 
contraire, the tendencies of both her novels were 
super-eminently moral. I begged that we might 
not enter on ' Delphine,' as that was hors du ques- 
tion, (she was furious at this,) but that all the 
moral world thought, that her representing all the 
virtuous characters in l Corinne ' as being dull, 
common-place, and tedious, was a most insidious 
blow aimed at virtue, and calculated to throw it 
into the shade. She was so excited and impa- 



WITH LOKD BYRON. 63 

tient to attempt a refutation, that it was only by 
my volubility I could keep her silent. She inter- 
rupted me every moment by gesticulating, ex- 
claiming — ' Quel idee ! ' < Mon Dieu ! ' ' Ecoutez 
done ! ^ ' Vous mHmpatientez ! ' — but I continued 
saying how dangerous it was to inculcate the be- 
lief that genius, talent, acquirements, and accom- 
plishments, such as Corinne was represented to 
possess, could not preserve a woman from becom- 
ing a victim to an unrequited passion, and that 
reason, absence, and female pride were unavail- 
ing. 

" I told her that ' Corinne ' would be consid- 
ered, if not cited, as an excuse for violent passions, 
by all young ladies with imaginations exalte, and 
that she had much to answer for. Had you seen 
her ! I now wonder how I had courage to go on ; 
but I was in one of my humors, and had heard of 
her commenting on me one day, so I determined 
to pay her off. She told me that I, above all peo- 
ple, was the last person that ought to talk of mor- 
als, as nobody had done more to deteriorate them. 
I looked innocent, and added, I was willing to 
plead guilty of having sometimes represented vice 
under alluring forms, but so it was generally in 
the world, therefore it was necessary to paint it 
so ; but that I never represented virtue under the 
sombre and disgusting shapes of dulness, severity, 



64 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

and ennui, and that I always took care to repre- 
sent the votaries of vice as unhappy themselves, 
and entailing unhappiness on those that loved 
them; so that my moral was unexceptionable. 
She was perfectly outrageous, and the more so, 
as I appeared calm and in earnest, though I as- 
sure you it required an effort, as I was ready to 
laugh outright at the idea that i", who was at that 
period considered the most mauvais sujet of the 
day, should give Madame de Stael a lecture on 
morals ; and I knew that this added to her rage. I 
also knew she never dared avow that I had taken 
such a liberty. She was, notwithstanding her 
little defects, a fine creature, with great talents, 
and many noble qualities, and had a simplicity 
quite extraordinary, which led her to believe 
every thing people told her, and consequently to 
be continually hoaxed, of which I saw such proofs 
in London. Madame de Stael it was who first 
lent me ' Adolphe,' which you like so much ; it is 
very clever, and very affecting. A friend of hers 
told me, that she was supposed to be the heroine, 
and I, with my aimahle franchise, insinuated as 
much to her, which rendered her furious. She 
proved to me how impossible it was that it could 
be so, which I already knew, and complained of 
the malice of the world for supposing it possible." 
Byron has remarkable penetration in discover- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 65 

ing the characters of those around him, and he 
piques himself extremely on it; he also thinks 
he has fathomed the recesses of his own mind ; 
but he is mistaken ; with much that is little 
(which he suspects) in his character, there is 
much that is great, that he does not give him- 
self credit for; his first impulses are always 
good, but his temper, which is impatient, pre- 
vents his acting on the cool dictates of reason ; 
and it appears to me, that in judging himself, 
Byron mistakes temper for character, and takes 
the ebullitions of the first for the indications of 
the nature of the second. He declares that, in 
addition to his other failings, avarice is now 
established. 

This new vice, like all the others he attributes 
to himself, he talks of as one would name those 
of an acquaintance, in a sort of deprecating, 
yet half-mocking tone ; as much as to say, you 
see I know all my faults better than you do, 
though I don't choose to correct them ; indeed, 
it has often occurred to me, that he brings for- 
ward his defects, as if in anticipation of some 
one else exposing them, which he would not 
like ; as, though he affects the contrary, he is 
jealous of being found fault with, and shows it 
in a thousand ways. 

He affects to dislike hearing his works praised 



66 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

or referred to ; I say affects, because I am sure 
the dislike is not real or natural ; as he who 
loves praise, as Byron evidently does, in other 
things, cannot dislike it for that in which he 
must be conscious it is deserved. He refers to 
his feats in horsemanship, shooting at a mark, 
and swimming, in a way that proves he likes 
to be complimented on them ; and nothing ap- 
pears to give him more satisfaction than being 
considered a man of fashion, who had great 
success in fashionable society in London, when 
he resided there. He is peculiarly compassionate 
to the poor. I remarked that he rarely, in our 
rides, passed a mendicant without giving him 
charity, which was invariably bestowed with 
gentleness and kindness ; this was still more 
observable if the person was deformed, as if he 
sympathized with the object. 

Byron is very fond of gossiping, and of hear- 
ing what is going on in the London fashionable 
world ; his friends keep him au courant, and any 
little scandal amuses him very much. I ob- 
served this to him one day, and added, that I 
thought his mind had been too great to descend 
to such trifles ! He laughed, and said with mock 
gravity, " Don't you know that the trunk of an 
elephant, which can lift the most ponderous 
weights, disdains not to take up the most mi- 



WITH LOED BYEON. 67 

nute ? This is the case with my great mind, 
(laughing anew,) and you must allow the simile 
is worthy the subject. Jesting apart, I do like a 
little scandal — I believe all English people do. 
An Italian lady, Madame Benzoni, talking to 
me on the prevalence of this taste among my 
compatriots, observed, that when she first knew 
the English, she thought them the most spiteful 
and ill-natured people in the world, from hearing 
them constantly repeating evil of each other ; 
but having seen various amiable traits in their 
characters, she had arrived at the conclusion, that 
they were not naturally mediant; but that living 
in a country like England, where severity of 
morals punishes so heavily any dereliction from 
propriety, each individual, to prove personal cor- 
rectness, was compelled to attack the sins of his 
or her acquaintance, as it furnished an opportu- 
nity of expressing their abhorrence by words, 
instead of proving it by actions, which might 
cause some self-denial to themselves. This," 
said Byron, "was an ingenious, as well as char- 
itable supposition ; and we must all allow that 
it is infinitely more easy to decry and expose 
the sins of others than to correct our own; and 
many find the first so agreeable an occupation, 
that it precludes the second — this at least, is my 
case." 



68 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

" The Italians do not understand the English," 
said Byron ; " indeed, how can they ? for they 
(the Italians) are frank, simple, and open in their 
natures, following the bent of their inclinations, 
which they do not believe to be wicked ; while 
the English, to conceal the indulgence of theirs, 
daily practise hypocrisy, falsehood, and nn chari- 
tableness ; so that to one error is added many 
crimes." Byron had now got on a favorite sub- 
ject, and went on decrying hypocrisy and cant, 
mingling sarcasms and bitter observations on the 
false delicacy of the English. It is strange, but 
true as strange, that he could not, or at least did 
not, distinguish the distinction between cause 
and effect, in this case. The respect for virtue 
will always cause spurious imitations of it to be 
given, and what he calls hypocrisy is but the re- 
spect to public opinion that induces people, who 
have not courage to correct their errors, at least 
to endeavor to conceal them ; and Cant is the 
homage that Vice pays to Virtue.* "We do not 
value the diamond less because there are so 
many worthless imitations of it, and Goodness 
loses nothing of her intrinsic value because so 
many wish to be thought to possess it. That 
nation may be considered to possess the most 
virtue where it is the most highly appreciated ; 

* Rochefoucault. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 69 

arid that the least, where it is so little understood, 
that the semblance is not even assumed. 

About this period the Duke of Leeds and 
family arrived at Genoa, and passed a day or 
two there, at the same hotel where we were 
residing. Shortly after their departure, Byron 
came to dine with us, and expressed his morti- 
fication at the Duke's not having called on 
him were it only out of respect to Mrs. Leigh, 
who was the half sister of both. This seemed 
to annoy him so much, that I endeavored to 
point out the inutility of ceremony between 
people who could have no two ideas in com- 
mon ; and observed, that the gene of finding 
one's self with people of totally different habits 
and feelings, was ill repaid by the respect their 
civility indicated. Byron is a person to be ex- 
cessively bored by the constraint that any change 
of system would occasion, even for a day ; yet 
his amour propre is wounded by any marks of 
incivility or want of respect he meets with. 
Poor Byron ! he is still far from arriving at the 
philosophy that he aims at and thinks he has 
acquired, when the absence or presence of a per- 
son who is indifferent to him, whatever his sta- 
tion in life may be, can occupy his thoughts for 
a moment. 

I have observed in Byron, a habit of attach- 



70 JOUKNAL OF CONVEESATIONS 

ing importance to trifles, and, vice versd, turning 
serious events into ridicule; he is extremely su- 
perstitious, and seems offended with those who 
cannot, or will not, partake this weakness. He 
has frequently touched on this subject, and taunt- 
ingly observed to me, that I must believe myself 
wiser than him, because I was not superstitious. 
I answered, that the vividness of his imagina- 
tion, which was proved by his works, furnished a 
sufficient excuse for his superstition, which was 
caused by an over-excitement of that faculty ; 
but that 7, not being blessed by the camera lucida 
of imagination, could have no excuse for the 
camera oscura, which I looked on superstition 
to be. This did not, however, content him, and 
I am sure he left me with a lower opinion of my 
faculties than before. To deprecate his anger, 
I observed that Nature was so wise and good 
that she gave compensations to all her offspring : 
that as to him she had given the brightest gift, 
genius ; so to those whom she had not so distin- 
guished, she gave the less brilliant, but perhaps 
as useful, gift of plain and unsophisticated rea- 
son. This did not satisfy his amour propre, and 
he left me, evidently displeased at my want of 
superstition. Byron is, I believe, sincere in his 
belief in supernatural appearances ; he assumes 
a grave and mysterious air when he talks on the 



WITH LOED BYRON. 71 

subject, which he is fond of doing, and has told 
me some extraordinary stories relative to Mr. 
Shelley, who, he assures me, had an implicit 
belief in ghosts. He also told me that Mr. Shel- 
ley's spectre had appeared to a lady, walking in 
a garden, and he seemed to lay great stress on 
this. Though some of the wisest of mankind, 
as witness Johnson, shared this weakness in com- 
mon with Byron, still there is something so un- 
usual in our matter-of-fact days in giving way to 
it, that I was at first doubtful that Byron was 
serious in his belief. He is also superstitious 
about days, and other trifling things, believes in 
lucky and unlucky days — dislikes undertaking 
any thing on a Friday, helping or being helped 
to salt at table, spilling salt or oil, letting bread 
fall, and breaking mirrors ; in short, he gives way 
to a thousand fantastical notions, that prove that 
even V esprit le plus fort has its weak side. Hav- 
ing declined riding with Byron one day, on the 
plea of going to visit some of the Genoese pal- 
aces and pictures, it furnished him with a subject 
of attack at our next interview ; he declared that 
he never believed people serious in their admira- 
tion of pictures, statues, &c, and that those who 
expressed the most admiration were " Amatori 
senza Amore, and Conoscitori senza Cognizione." 
I replied, that as I had never talked to him of pic- 



72 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

tures, I hoped he would give me credit for be- 
ing sincere in my admiration of them ; but he 
was in no humor to give one credit for any thing 
on this occasion, as he felt that our giving a pre- 
ference to seeing sights, when we might have 
passed the hours with him, was not flattering to 
his vanity. I should say that Byron was not 
either skilled in, or an admirer of, works of art ; 
he confessed to me that very few had excited his 
attention, and that to admire these he had been 
forced to draw on his imagination. Of objects of 
taste or virtu he was equally regardless, and anti- 
quities had no interest for him ; nay, he carried 
this so far, that he disbelieved the possibility of 
their exciting interest in any one, and said that 
they merely served as excuses for indulging the 
vanity and ostentation of those who had no 
other means of exciting attention. Music he 
liked, though he was no judge of it; he often 
dwelt on the power of association it possessed, 
and declared that the notes of a well-known air 
could transport him to distant scenes and events, 
presenting objects before him with a vividness 
that quite banished the present. Perfumes, he 
said, produced the same effect, though less for- 
cibly, and, added he, with his mocking smile, 
often make me quite sentimental. 

Byron is of a very suspicious nature ; he dreads 



WITH LORD BYRON. 73 

imposition on all points, declares that he foregoes 
many things, from the fear of being cheated in 
the purchase, and is afraid to give way to the 
natural impulses of his character, lest he should 
be duped or mocked. This does not interfere 
with his charities, which are frequent and liberal ; 
but he has got into a habit of calculating even 
his most trifling personal expenses, that is often 
ludicrous, and would in England expose him to 
ridicule. He indulges in a self-complacency when 
talking of his own defects, that is amusing ; and 
he is rather fond than reluctant of bringing them 
into observation. He says that money is wis- 
dom, knowledge, and power, all combined; and 
that this conviction is the only one he has in 
common with all his countrymen. He dwells 
with great asperity on an acquaintance to whom 
he lent some money, and who has not repaid him. 
Byron seems to take particular pleasure in 
ridiculing sentiment and romantic feelings ; and 
yet the day after will betray both, to an extent 
that appears impossible to be sincere, to those 
who had heard his previous sarcasms ; that he is 
sincere, is evident, as his eyes fill with tears, his 
voice becomes tremulous, and his whole manner 
evinces that he feels what he says. All this ap- 
pears so inconsistent, that it destroys sympathy, 
or, if it does not quite do that, it makes one 



74 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

angry with one's self for giving way to it for one 
who is never two days of the same way of think- 
ing, or at least expressing himself. He talks for 
effect, likes to excite astonishment, and certainly 
destroys, in the mind of his auditors, all confi- 
dence in his stability of character. This must, 
I am certain, be felt by all who have lived much 
in his society ; and the impression is not satis- 
factory. 

Talking one day of his domestic misfortunes, 
as he always called his separation from Lady 
Byron, he dwelt in a sort of unmanly strain of 
lamentation on it, that all present felt to be 
unworthy of him ; and as, the evening before, I 
had heard this habitude of his commented on by 
persons indifferent about his feelings, who even 
ridiculed his making it a topic of conversation 
with mere acquaintances, I wrote a few lines in 
verse, expressive of my sentiments, and handed 
it across the table round which we were seated, 
as he was sitting for his portrait. He read them, 
became red and pale by turns, with anger, and 
threw them down on the table, with an expres- 
sion of countenance that is not to be forgotten. 
The following are the lines, which had nothing 
to offend, but they did offend him deeply, and he 
did not recover his temper during the rest of his 
stay. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 75 

And canst thou bare thy breast to vulgar eyes ? 
And canst thou show the wounds that rankle there ? 
• Methought in noble hearts that sorrow lies 
Too deep to suffer coarser minds to share. 

The wounds inflicted by the hand we love, 
(The hand that should have warded off each blow,) 

Are never heal'd, as aching hearts can prove, 
But sacred should the stream of sorrow flow. 

If friendship" 1 s pity quells not real grief, 

Can public pity soothe thy woes to sleep ? — 
No ! Byron, spurn such vain, such weak relief, 

And if thy tears must fall — in secret weep. 

He never appeared to so little advantage as 
when he talked sentiment ; this did not at all 
strike me at first ; on the contrary, it excited a 
powerful interest for him ; but when he had 
vented his spleen in sarcasms, and pointed ridi- 
cule on sentiment, reducing all that is noblest in 
our natures to the level of common every-day 
life, the charm was broken, and it was impossible 
to sympathize with him again. He observed 
something of this, and seemed dissatisfied and 
restless when he perceived that he could no 
longer excite either strong sympathy or aston- 
ishment. Notwithstanding all these contradic- 
tions in this wayward, spoiled child of genius, 
the impression left on my mind was, that he had 
both sentiment and romance in his nature; but 
that, from the love of displaying his wit and as- 



76 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

tonishing his hearers, he affected to despise and 
ridicule them. 

From this period we saw Lord Byron fre- 
quently ; he met us in our rides nearly every 
day, and the road to Nervi became our favorite 
promenade. While riding by the sea-shore, he 
often recurred to the events of his life, min- 
gling sarcasms on himself with bitter pleasantries 
against others. He dined often with us, and 
sometimes came after dinner, as he complained 
that he suffered from indulging at our repasts, 
as animal food disagreed with him. He added, 
that even the excitement of society, though agree- 
able and exhilarating at the time, left a nervous 
irritation, that prevented sleep or occupation for 
many hours afterwards. 

I once spoke to him, by the desire of his med- 
ical adviser, on the necessity of his accustoming 
himself to a more nutritious regimen ; but he 
declared that, if he did, he should get fat and 
stupid, and that it was only by abstinence that 
he felt he had the power of exercising his mind. 
He complained of being spoiled for society, by 
having so long lived out of it ; and said that, 
though naturally of a quick apprehension, he lat- 
terly felt himself dull and stupid. The impres- 
sion left on my mind is, that Byron never could 
have been a brilliant person in society, and that 



WITH LORD BYRON. 77 

he was not formed for what generally is under- 
stood by that term ; he has none of the " small 
change " that passes current in the mart of so- 
ciety ; his gold is in ingots, and cannot be 
brought into use for trifling expenditures; he, 
however, talks a good deal, and likes to ra~ 
confer. 

Talking of people who were great talkers, he 
observed that almost all clever people were such, 
and gave several examples ; amongst others, he 
cited Voltaire, Horace Walpole, Johnson, Napo- 
leon Bonaparte, and Madame de Stael. " But," 

said he, " my friend, Lady , would have 

talked them all out of the field. She, I sup- 
pose, has heard that all clever people are great 
talkers, and so has determined on displaying, at 
least, one attribute of that genus ; but her lady- 
ship would do well to recollect, that all great 
talkers are not clever people — a truism that no 
one can doubt who has been often in her so- 
ciety." 

" Lady ," continued Byron, " with beau- 
coup de ridicule, has many essentially fine qual- 
ities ; she is independent in her principles — 
though, by the by, like all Independents, she al- 
lows that privilege to few others, being the veriest 
tyrant that ever governed Fashion's fools, who 
are compelled to shake their caps and bells as 



78 'JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

she wills it. Of all that coterie," said Byron," 

" Madame de , after Lady , was the 

best ; at least I thought so, for these two ladies 
were the only ones who ventured to protect me 
when all London was crying out against me on 
the separation, and they behaved courageously 

and kindly ; indeed Madame de defended 

me when few dared to do so, and I have always 

remembered it. Poor dear Lady ! does 

she still retain her beautiful cream-colored com- 
plexion and raven hair ? I used to long to tell 
her that she spoiled her looks by her excessive 
animation ; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms were 
all in movement at once, and were only relieved 
from their active service by want of respiration. 
I shall never forget when she once complained to 
me of the fatigue of literary occupations ; and I, 
in terror, expected her ladyship to propose read- 
ing to me an epic poem, tragedy, or at least a 
novel of her composition, when lo ! she displayed 
to me a very richly-bound album, half filled with 
printed extracts cut out of newspapers and maga- 
zines, which she had selected and pasted in the 
book ; and I (happy at being let off so easily) 
sincerely agreed with her that literature was very 
tiresome. I understand that she has now ad- 
vanced with the ' march of intellect,' and got an 
album filled with MS. poetry, to which all of us? 



WITH LOED BYKON. 79 

of the craft, have contributed. I was the first; 
Moore wrote something, which was, like all that 
he writes, very sparkling and terse ; but he got 
dissatisfied with the faint praise it met with from 
the husband before Miladi saw the verses, and 
destroyed the effusion ; I know not if he ever has 
supplied their place. Can you fancy Moore pay- 
ing attention to the opinion of Milor on poesy ? 
Had it been on racing or horse-flesh, he might 
have been right ; but Pegasus is, perhaps, the 

only horse of whose paces Lord could not 

be a judge." 

Talking of fashionable life in London, Lord 
Byron said that there was nothing so vapid and 
ennuyeux. " The English," said he, " were in- 
tended by nature to be good, sober-minded peo- 
ple, and those who live in the country are really 
admirable. I saw a good deal of English country 
life, and it is the only favorable impression that 
remains of our mode of living; but of London, 
and exclusive society, I retain a fearful recollec- 
tion. Dissipation has need of wit, talent, and 
gaiety to prevent reflection, and make the eter- 
nal round of frivolous amusements pass ; and of 
these," continued Byron, " there was a terrible 
lack in the society in which I mixed. The minds 
of the English are formed of sterner stuff. You 
may make an English woman (indeed Nature 



80 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

does this) the best daughter, wife, and mother in 
the world ; nay, you may make her a heroine ; 
but nothing can make her a genuine woman of 
fashion ! And yet this latter role is the one 
which, par preference, she always wishes to act. 
Thorough-bred English gentlewomen," said By- 
ron, " are the most distinguished and lady-like 
creatures imaginable. Natural, mild, and digni- 
fied, they are formed to be placed at the heads of 
our patrician establishments ; but when they quit 
their congenial spheres to enact the leaders of 
fashion, les dames d la mode, they bungle sadly ; 
their gaiety degenerates into levity — their hauteur 
into incivility — their fashionable ease and non- 
chalance into brusquerie — and their attempts at 
assuming les usages du monde into a positive 
outrage on all the bienseances. In short, they 
offer a coarse caricature of the airy flightiness 
and capricious, but amusing, legerete of the 
French, without any of their redeeming espie- 
glerie and politesse. And all this because they 
will perform parts in the comedy of life for which 
nature has not formed them, neglecting their own 
dignified characters." 

" Madame de Stael," continued Lord Byron, 
" was forcibly struck by the factitious tone of the 
best society in London, and wished very much to 
have an opportunity of judging of that of the 



WITH LORD BYRON. 81 

second class. She, however, had not this oppor- 
tunity, which I regret, as I think it would have 
justified her expectations. In England, the raw 
material is generally good ; it is the over-dressing 
that injures it; and as the class she wished to 
study, are well educated, and have all the refine- 
ment of civilization without its corruption, she 
would have carried away a favorable impression. 
Lord Grey and his family were the personification 
of her beau idSal of perfection, as I must say they 
are of mine," continued Byron, " and might serve 
as the finest specimens of the pure English patri- 
cian breed, of which so few remain. His uncom- 
promising and uncompromised dignity, founded 
on self-respect, and accompanied by that certain 
proof of superiority — simplicity of manner and 
freedom from affectation, with her mild and ma- 
tron graces, her whole life offering a model to 
wives and mothers — really they are people to be 
proud of, and a few such would reconcile one to 
one's species." 

One of our first rides with Lord Byron was 
to Nervi, a village on the sea-coast, most ro- 
mantically situated, and each turn of the road 
presenting various and beautiful prospects. They 
were all familiar to him, and he failed not to 
point them out, but in very sober terms, never 
allowing any thing like enthusiasm in his ex- 



82 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

pressions, though many of the views might have 
excited it. 

His appearance on horseback was not advan- 
tageous, and he seemed aware of it, for he made 
many excuses for his dress and equestrian appoint- 
ments. His horse was literally covered with 
various trappings, in the way of cavesons, mar- 
tingales, and Heaven knows how many other (to 
me) unknown inventions. The saddle was d la 
hussarde with holsters, in which he always carried 
pistols. His dress consisted of a nankeen jacket 
and trousers, which appeared to have shrunk from 
washing; the jacket embroidered in the same 
color, and with three rows of buttons ; the waist 
very short, the back very narrow, and the sleeves 
set in as they used to be ten or fifteen years be- 
fore ; a black stock, very narrow ; a dark-blue 
velvet cap with a shade, and a very rich gold 
band and large gold tassel at the crown ; nankeen 
gaiters, and a pair of blue spectacles, completed 
his costume, which was any thing but becoming. 
This was his general dress of a morning for rid- 
ing, but I have seen it changed for a green tartan 
plaid jacket. He did not ride well, which sur- 
prised us, as, from the frequent allusions to horse- 
manship in his works, we expected to find him 
almost a Nimrod. It was evident that he had 
pretensions on this point, though he certainly was 



WITH LORD BYRON. 83 

what I should call a timid rider. When his horse 
made a false step, which was not unfrequent, he 
seemed discomposed ; and when we came to any 
bad part of the road, he immediately checked his 
course and walked his horse very slowly, though 
there really was nothing to make even a lady 
nervous. Finding that I could perfectly manage 
(or what he called bully) a very highly-dressed 
horse that I daily rode, he became extremely anx- 
ious to buy it ; asked me a thousand questions as 
to how I had acquired such a perfect command 
of it, &c. &c. and entreated, as the greatest favor, 
that I would resign it to him as a charger to take 
to Greece, declaring he never would part with it, 
&c. As I was by no means a bold rider, we were 
rather amused at observing Lord Byron s opinion 
of my courage ; and as he seemed so anxious for 
the horse, I agreed to let him have it when he was 
to embark. From this time he paid particular 
attention to the movements of poor Mameluke, 
(the name of the horse,) and said he should now 
feel confidence in action with so steady a charger. 
During our ride the conversation turned on our 
mutual friends and acquaintances in England. 
Talking of two of them, for one of whom he pro- 
fessed a great regard, he declared laughingly that 
they had saved him from suicide. Seeing me 
look grave, he added, " It is a fact, I assure you ; 



84 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

I should positively have destroyed myself, but I 

guessed that or would write my 

life, and with this fear before my eyes, I have 
lived on. I know so well the sort of things they 
would write of me — the excuses, lame as myself, 
that they would offer for my delinquencies, while 
they were unnecessarily exposing them, and all 
this done with the avowed intention of justifying, 
what, God help me ! cannot be justified, my un- 
poetical reputation, with which the world can have 
nothing to do ! One of my friends would dip his 
pen in clarified honey, and the other in vinegar, 
to describe my manifold transgressions, and as I 
do not wish my poor fame to be either preserved 
or pickled, I have lived on and written my 
Memoirs, where facts will speak for themselves, 
without the editorial candor of excuses, such as 
' we cannot excuse this unhappy error, or defend 
that impropriety!' — the mode," continued Byron, 
"in which friends exalt their own prudence and 
virtue, by exhibiting the want of those qualities 
in the dear departed, and by marking their disap- 
proval of his errors. I have written my Memoirs," 
said Byron, " to save the necessity of their being 
written by a friend or friends, and have only to 
hope they will not add notes." 

I remarked, with a smile, that at all events he 
anticipated his friends by saying beforehand as 



WITH LORD BYRON. 85 

many ill-natured things of them as they could 
possibly write of him. He laughed, and said, 
" Depend on it we are equal. Poets (and I may, 
I suppose, without presumption, count myself 
among that favored race, as it has pleased the 
Fates to make me one,) have no friends. On the 
old principle that ' union gives force,' we some- 
times agree to have a violent friendship for each 
other. We dedicate, we bepraise, we write pretty 
letters, but we do not deceive each other. In short, 
we resemble you fair ladies, when some half dozen 
of the fairest of you profess to love each other 
mightily, correspond so sweetly, call each other 
by such pretty epithets, and laugh in your hearts 
at those who are taken in by such appearances." 

I endeavored to defend my sex, but he adhered 
to his opinion. I ought to add that during this 
conversation he was very gay, and that though 
his words may appear severe, there was no sever- 
ity in his manner. The natural flippancy of Lord 
Byron took off all appearance of premeditation or 
bitterness from his remarks, even when they were 
acrimonious, and the impression conveyed to, and 
left on my mind was, that for the most part they 
were uttered more in jest than in earnest. They 
were, however, sufficiently severe to make me feel 
that there was no safety with him, and that in 
five minutes after one's quitting him on terms of 



86 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

friendship, he could not resist the temptation of 
showing one up, either in conversation or by letter, 
though in half an hour after he would put him- 
self to personal inconvenience to render a kind- 
ness to the person so shown up. 

I remarked, that in talking of literary produc- 
tions, he seemed much more susceptible to their 
defects, than alive to their beauties. As a proof, 
he never failed to remember some quotation that 
told against the unhappy author, which he recited 
with an emphasis, or a mock-heroic air, that made 
it very ludicrous. The pathetic he always burles- 
qued in reciting; but this I am sure proceeded 
from an affectation of not sympathizing with the 
general taste. 

April. — Lord Byron dined with us to-day. 
During dinner he was as usual gay, spoke in terms 
of the warmest commendation of Sir Walter 
Scott, not only as an author, but as a man, and 
dwelt with apparent delight on his novels, declar- 
ing that he had read and reread them over and 
over again, and always with increased pleasure. 
He said that he quite equalled, nay, in his own 
opinion, surpassed Cervantes. In talking of Sir 
Walter's private character, goodness of heart, &c. 
Lord Byron became more animated than I had 
ever seen him ; his color changed from its general 
• pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his eyes be- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 87 

came humid ; never had he appeared to such 
advantage, and it might easily be seen that every 
expression he uttered proceeded from his heart 
Poor Byron ! — for poor he is even with all his ge- 
nius, rank, and wealth — had he lived more with 
men like Scott, whose openness of character and 
steady principle had convinced him that they were 
in earnest in their goodness, and not making be- 
lieve, (as he always suspects good people to be,) 
his life might be different and happier. 

Byron is so acute an observer that nothing es- 
capes him ; all the shades of selfishness and 
vanity are exposed to his searching glance, and 
the misfortune is, (and a serious one it is to him,) 
tRat when he finds these, and alas ! they are to be 
found on every side, they disgust and prevent his 
giving credit to the many good qualities that often 
accompany them. He declares he can sooner 
pardon crimes, because they proceed from the 
passions, than these minor vices, that spring from 
selfishness and self-conceit. We had a long argu- 
ment this evening on this subject, which ended, 
like most arguments, by leaving both of the same 
opinion as when it commenced. I endeavored to 
prove that crimes were not only injurious to the 
perpetrators, but often ruinous to the innocent, 
and productive of misery to friends and relations, 
whereas selfishness and vanity carried with them 



88 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS " 

their own punishment, the first depriving the per- 
son of all sympathy, and the second exposing him 
to ridicule, which to the vain is a heavy punish- 
ment, but that their effects were not destructive to 
society as are crimes. 

He laughed when I told him that having heard 
him so often declaim against vanity, and detect 
it so often in his friends, I began to suspect he 
knew the malady by having had it himself, and 
that I had observed through life, that those per- 
sons who had the most vanity were the most se- 
vere against that failing in their friends. He 
wished to impress upon me that he was not vain, 
and gave various proofs to establish this ; but I 
produced against him his boasts of swimming, 
his evident desire of being considered more un 
homme de societe than a poet, and other little 
examples, when he laughingly pleaded guilty, 
and promised to be more merciful towards his 
friends. 

We sat on the balcony after tea ; it commands 
a fine view, and we had one of those moonlight 
nights that are seen only in this country. Every 
object was tinged with its silvery lustre. In front 
were crowded an uncountable number of ships 
from every country, with their various flags wav- 
ing in the breeze, which bore to us the sounds of 
the as various languages of the crews. In the 



WITH LOKD BYKON. 89 

distance we enjoyed a more expanded view of the 
sea, which reminded Byron of his friend Moore's 
description, which he quoted: — 

The sea is like a silv'ry lake. 

The fanale casting its golden blaze into this sil- 
very lake, and throwing a red lurid reflection on 
the sails of the vessels that passed near it ; the 
fishermen, with their small boats, each having a 
fire held in a sort of grate fastened at the end of 
the boat, which burns brilliantly, and by which 
they not only see the fish that approach, but at- 
tract them ; their scarlet caps, which all the Gen- 
oese sailors and fishermen wear, adding much to 
their picturesque appearance, all formed a picture 
that description falls far short of; and when to 
this are joined the bland odors of the richest and 
rarest flowers, with which the balconies are filled, 
one feels that such nights are never to be forgot- 
ten, and while the senses dwell on each, and all, 
a delicious melancholy steals over the mind, as it 
reflects that, the destinies of each conducting to 
far distant regions, a time will arrive when all 
now before the eye will appear but as a dream. 

This was felt by all the party ; and after a si- 
lence of many minutes, it was broken by Byron, 
who remarked, " What an evening, and what a 
view ! Should we ever meet in the dense atmos- 
phere of London, shall we not recall this evening, 



90 JOUENAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 

and the scenery now before us ? but no ! most 
probably there we should not feel as we do here ; 
we should fall into the same heartless, loveless 
apathy that distinguishes one half of our dear 
compatriots, or the bustling, impertinent impor- 
tance to be considered supreme bon ton that marks 
the other." 

Byron spoke with bitterness, but it was the 
bitterness of a fine nature soured by having been 
touched too closely by those who had lost their 
better feelings through a contact with the world. 
After a few minutes' silence, he said, " Look at 
that forest of masts now before us ! from what 
remote parts of the world do they come ! o'er 
how many waves have they not passed, and how 
many tempests have they not been, and may 
again be" exposed to ! how many hearts and ten- 
der thoughts follow them ! mothers, wives, sisters, 
and sweethearts, who perhaps at this hour are 
offering up prayers for their safety." 

While he was yet speaking, sounds of vocal 
music arose ; national hymns and barcaroles were 
sung in turns by the different crews, and when 
they had ceased, " God save the King " was sung 
by the crews of some English merchantmen ly- 
ing close to the pier. This was a surprise to us 
all, and its effect on our feelings was magnetic. 
Byron was no less touched than the rest ; each 



WITH LOED BYEON. 91 

felt at the moment that tie of country which 
unites all when they meet on a far distant shore. 
When the song ceased, Byron, with a melancholy 
smile, observed, " Why, positively, we are all 
quite sentimental this evening, and I — i, who 
have sworn against sentimentality, find the old 
leaven still in my nature, and quite ready to make 
a fool of me. l Tell it not in Gath,' that is to 
say, breathe it not in London, or to English ears 
polite, or never again shall I be able to enact the 
stoic philosopher. Come, come, this will never do, 
we must forswear moonlight, fine views, and above 
all, hearing a national air sung. Little does his 
gracious Majesty Big Ben, as Moore calls him, 
imagine what loyal subjects he has at Genoa, 
and least of all that I am among their number." 

Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was 
not successful, and he wished us good-night with 
a trepidation of manner that marked his feelings. 
And this is the man that I have heard considered 
unfeeling! How often are our best qualities 
turned against us, and made the instruments for 
wounding us in the most vulnerable part, until, 
ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, we af- 
fect an insensibility we are far from possessing, 
and, while we deceive others, nourish in secret 
the feelings that prey only on our own hearts ! 

It is difficult to judge when Lord Byron is 



92 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

serious or not. He has a habit of mystifying, 
that might impose upon many ; but that can be 
detected by examining his physiognomy ; for a 
sort of mock gravity, now and then broken by a 
malicious smile, betrays when he is speaking for 
effect, and not giving utterance to his real senti- 
ments. If he sees that he is detected, he appears 
angry for a moment, and then laughingly admits 
that it amuses him to hoax people, as he calls it, 
and that when each person, at some future day, 
will give their different statements of him, they 
will be so contradictory, that all will be doubted 
— an idea that gratifies him exceedingly ! The 
mobility of his nature is extraordinary, and makes 
him inconsistent in his actions as well as in his 
conversation. He introduced the subject of La 
Contessa Guiccioli and her family, which we of 
course, would not have touched on. He stated 
that they lived beneath his roof because his rank 
as a British peer afforded her father and brother 
protection, they having been banished from Ra- 
venna, their native place, on account of their pol- 
itics. He spoke in high terms of the Counts 
Gamba, father and son; he said that he had 
given the family a wing of his house, but that 
their establishments were totally separate, their 
repasts never taken together, and that such was 
their scrupulous delicacy, that they never would 



WITH LOED BYEON. 93 

accept a pecuniary obligation from him in all the 
difficulties entailed on them by their exile. He 
represented La Contessa Guiccioli as a most 
amiable and lady-like person, perfectly disinter- 
ested and noble-minded, devotedly attached to 
him, and possessing so many high and estimable 
qualities, as to offer an excuse for any man's at- 
tachment to her. He said that he had been 
passionately in love with her, and that she had 
sacrificed every thing for him ; that the whole of 
her conduct towards him had been admirable, and 
that not only did he feel the strongest personal 
attachment to her, but the highest sentiments 
of esteem. He dwelt with evident complacency 
on her noble birth and distinguished connections 
— advantages to which he attaches great impor- 
tance. I never met any one with so decided a 
taste for aristocracy as Lord Byron, and this is 
shown in a thousand different ways. 

He says the Contessa is well educated, remark- 
ably fond of, and well read in, the poetry of her 
own country, and a tolerable proficient in that of 
France and England. In his praises of Madame 
Guiccioli, it is quite evident that he is sincere, 
and I am persuaded this is his last attachment. 
He told me that she had used every effort to get 
him to discontinue " Don Juan," or at least to 
preserve the future cantos from all impure pass- 



94 JOUKNAL OF CONVEESATIONS 

ages. In short, he . has said all that was possible 
to impress me with a favorable opinion of this 
lady, and has convinced me that he entertains a 
very high one of her himself. 

Byron is a strange melange of good and evil, 
the predominancy of either depending wholly on 
the humor he may happen to be in. His is a 
character that Nature totally unfitted for domes- 
tic habits, or for rendering a woman of refine- 
ment or susceptibility happy. He confesses to 
me that he is not happy, but admits that it is his 
own fault, as the Contessa Guiccioli, the only 
object of his love, has all the qualities to render 
a reasonable being happy. I observed, apropos 
to some observation he had made, that I feared 
La Contessa Guiccioli had little reason to be sat- 
isfied with her lot. He answered, " Perhaps you 
are right ; yet she must know that I am sincerely 
attached to her ; but the truth is, my habits are 
not those requisite to form the happiness of any 
woman ; I am worn out in feelings ; for, though 
only thirty-six, I feel sixty in mind, and am less 
capable than ever of those nameless attentions 
that all women, but, above all, Italian women, 
require. I like solitude, which has become abso- 
lutely necessary to me ; am fond of shutting my- 
self up for hours, and, when with the person I 
like, am often distrait and gloomy. There is 



WITH LORD BYRON. 95 

something I am convinced (continued Byron) in 
the poetical temperament that precludes happi- 
ness, not only to the person who has it, but to 
those connected with him. Do not accuse me of 
vanity, because I say this, as my belief is, that 
the worst poet may share this misfortune in com- 
mon with the best. The way in which I account 
for it is, that our imaginations being warmer than 
our hearts, and much more given to wander, the 
latter have not the power to control the former ; 
hence, soon after our passions are gratified, imag- 
ination again takes wing, and, finding the insuf- 
ficiency of actual indulgence beyond the moment, 
abandons itself to all its wayward fancies, and 
during this abandonment becomes cold and in- 
sensible to the demands of affection. This is our 
misfortune, but not our fault, and dearly do we 
expiate it; by it we are rendered incapable of 
sympathy, and cannot lighten, by sharing, the 
pain we inflict. Thus we witness, without the 
power of alleviating, the anxiety and dissatisfac- 
tion our conduct occasions. We are not so 
totally unfeeling as not to be grieved at the un- 
happiness we cause ; but this same power of im- 
agination transports our thoughts to other scenes, 
and we are always so much more occupied by 
the ideal than the present, that we forget all that 
is actual. It is as though the creatures of an- 



96 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

other sphere, not subject to the lot of mortality, 
formed a factitious alliance (as all alliances must 
be that are not in all respects equal) with the 
creatures of this earth, and, being exempt from 
its sufferings, turned their thoughts to brighter 
regions, leaving the partners of their earthly ex- 
istence to suffer alone. But, let the object of 
affection be snatched away by death, and how 
is all the pain ever inflicted on them avenged ! 
The same imagination that led us to slight, or 
overlook their sufferings, now that they are for 
ever lost to us, magnifies their estimable qual- 
ities, and increases tenfold the affection we ever 
felt for them — 

Oh ! what are thousand living loves, 
To that which cannot quit the dead? 

How did I feel this, when Allegra, my daughter, 
died! While she lived, her existence never seemed 
necessary to my happiness ; but no sooner did I 
lose her, than it appeared to me as if I could not 
live without her. Even now the recollection is 
most bitter ; but how much more severely would 
the death of Teresa afflict me with the dreadful 
consciousness that while I had been soaring into 
the fields of romance and fancy, I had left her to 
weep over my coldness or infidelities of imagina- 
tion. It is a dreadful proof of the weakness of 
our natures, that we cannot control ourselves suf- 



WITH LOED BYEON. • 97 

ficiently to form the happiness of those we love, 
or to bear their loss without agony." 

The whole of this conversation made a deep 
impression on my mind, and the countenance of 
the speaker, full of earnestness and feeling, im- 
pressed it still more strongly on my memory. 
Byron is right ; a brilliant imagination is rarely, 
if ever, accompanied by a warm heart ; but on 
this latter depends the happiness of life ; the other 
renders us dissatisfied with its ordinary enjoy- 
ments. 

He is an extraordinary person, indiscreet to a 
degree that is surprising, exposing his own feel- 
ings, and entering into details of those of others, 
that ought to be sacred, with a degree of frank- 
ness as unnecessary as it is rare. Incontinence 
of speech is his besetting sin. He is, I am per- 
suaded, incapable of keeping any secret, however 
it may concern his own honor or that of another ; 
and the first person with whom he found himself 
tete-a-tete would be made the confidant without 
any reference to his worthiness of the confidence 
or not. This indiscretion proceeds not from 
malice, but I should say, from want of delicacy 
of mind. To this was owing the publication of 
his " Farewell," addressed to Lady Byron — a 
farewell that must have lost all effect as an ap- 
peal to her feelings the moment it was exposed to 



98 .JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the public — nay, must have offended her deli- 
cacy. 

Byron spoke to-day in terms of high commen- 
dation of Hope's " Anastasius ; " said that he 
wept bitterly over many pages of it, and for two 
reasons — first, that he had not written it, and, 
secondly, that Hope had ; for that it was neces- 
sary to like a man excessively to pardon his writ- 
ing such a book — a book, as he said, excelling all 
recent productions, as much in wit and talent, as 
in true pathos. He added, that he would have 
given his two most approved poems to have been 
the author of " Anastasius." 

From " Anastasius" he wandered to the works 
of Mr. Gait, praised the "Annals of the Parish " 
very highly, as also " The Entail," which we had 
lent him, and some scenes of which he said had 
affected him very much. " The characters in Mr. 
Gait's novels have an identity," added Byron, 
" that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures." 

As a woman, I felt proud of the homage he 
paid to the genius of Mrs. Hemans, and as a pas- 
sionate admirer of her poetry, I felt flattered, at 
finding that Lord Byron fully sympathized with 
my admiration. He has, or at least expresses, a 
strong dislike to the Lake school of poets, never 
mentions them except in ridicule, and he and I 
nearly quarrelled to-day because I defended poor 
Keats. 



WITH LOED BYRON. 99 

On looking out from the balcony this morning 
with Byron, I observed his countenance change, 
and an expression of deep sadness steal over it. 
After a few minutes' silence he pointed out to 
me a boat anchored to the right, as the one in 
which his friend Shelley went down, and he said 
the sight of it made him ill, — " You should have 
known Shelley," said Byron, " to feel how much 
I must regret him. He was the most gentle, most 
amiable, and least worldly-minded person I ever 
met; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all 
other men, and possessing a degree of genius, 
joined to a simplicity as rare as it is admirable. 
He had formed to himself a beau ideal of all that 
is fine, high minded, and noble, and he acted up 
to this ideal even to the very letter. He had a 
most brilliant imagination, but a total want of 
worldly wisdom. I have seen nothing like him, 
and never shall again, I am certain. I never can 
forget the night that his poor wife rushed into my 
room at Pisa, with a face pale as marble, and 
terror impressed on her brow, demanding, with all 
the tragic impetuosity of grief and alarm, where 
was her husband ! Vain were all our efforts to 
calm her, a desperate sort of courage seemed to 
give her energy to confront the horrible truth that 
awaited her; it was the courage of despair. I 
have seen nothing in tragedy on the stage so 



100 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

powerful, or so affecting, as her appearance, and 
it often presents itself to my memory. I knew 
nothing then of the catastrophe, but the vividness 
of her terror communicated itself to me, and I 
feared the worst, which fears were, alas ! too 
soon fearfully realized. 

" Mrs. Shelley is very clever ; indeed it would 
be difficult for her not to be so ; the daughter of 
Mary Wollstonecraft and Godwin, and the wife 
of Shelley, could be no common person." 

Byron talked to-day of Leigh Hunt, regretted 
his ever having embarked in the " Liberal," and 
said that it had drawn a nest of hornets on him ; 
but expressed a very good opinion of the talents 
and principle of Mr. Hunt, though, as he said, 
" our tastes are so opposite, that we are totally 
un suited to each other. He admires the Lakers, 
I abhor them ; in short, we are more formed to be 
friends at a distance, than near." I can perceive 
that he wishes Mr. Hunt and his family away. 
It appears to me that Byron is a person who, 
without reflection, would form engagements 
which, when condemned by his friends or ad- 
visers, he would gladly get out of without con- 
sidering the means, or, at least, without reflecting 
on the humiliation such a desertion must inflict 
on the persons he had associated with him. He 
gives me the idea of a man, who, feeling himself 



WITH LORD BYRON. 101 

in such a dilemma, would become cold and un- 
gracious to the parties with whom he so stood, 
before he had mental courage sufficient to aban- 
don them. I may be wrong; but the whole of 
his manner of talking of Mr. Hunt gives me this 
impression, though he has not said what might 
be called an unkind word of him. 

Much as Byron has braved public opinion, it is 
evident he has a great deference for those who 
stand high in it, and that he is shy in attaching 
himself publicly to persons who have even, how- 
ever undeservedly, fallen under its censure. His 
expressed contempt and defiance of the world 
reminds me of the bravadoes of children, who 
afraid of darkness, make a noise to give them- 
selves courage to support what they dread. It 
is very evident that he is partial to aristocratic 
friends ; he dwells with complacency on the ad- 
vantages of rank and station ; and has more than 
once boasted that people of family are always to 
be recognized by a certain air and the smallness 
and delicacy of their hands. 

He talked in terms of high commendation of 
the talents and acquirements of Mr. Hobhouse ; 
but a latent sentiment of pique was visible in his 
manner, from the idea he appeared to entertain 
that Mr. Hobhouse had undervalued him. Byron 
evidently likes praise ; this is a weakness, if weak- 



102 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

ness it be, that he partakes in common with man- 
kind in general ; but he does not seem aware that 
a great compliment is implied in the very act 
of telling a man his faults — for the friend who 
undertakes this disagreeable office must give him 
whom he censures credit for many good qualities, 
as well as no ordinary portion of candor and tem- 
per, to suppose him capable of hearing the recap- 
itulation of his failings. Byron is, after all, a 
spoiled child, and the severe lessons he has met 
with being disproportioned to the errors that 
called them forth, has made him view the faults 
of the civilized world through a false medium ; a 
sort of discolored magnifying-glass, while his own 
are gazed at through a concave lens. All that 
Byron has told me of the frankness and unbend- 
ing honesty of Mr. Hobhouse's character, has 
given me a most favorable impression of that 
gentleman. 

Byron gave me to-day a MS. copy of verses, 
addressed to Lady Byron, on reading in a news- 
paper that she had been ill. How different is the 
feeling that pervades them from that of the letter 
addressed to her which he has given me ! a lurking 
tenderness, suppressed by a pride that was doubt- 
ful of the reception it might meet, is evident in 
one, while bitterness, uncompromising bitterness, 
marks the other. Neither were written but with 



WITH LOED BYEON. 103 

deep feelings of pain, and should be judged as the 
outpourings of a wounded spirit, demanding pity 
more, than anger. I subjoin the verses, though 
not without some reluctance. But while to the 
public they are of that value that any reasons for 
their suppression ought to be extremely strong, so, 
on the other hand, I trust they cannot hurt either 
her feelings to whom they are addressed, or his 
memory by whom they are written ; — to her, 
because the very bitterness of reproach proves 
that unconquerable affection which cannot but 
heal the wound it causes ; to him, because who, 
in the shattered feelings they betray, will not 
acknowledge the grief that hurries into error, and 
(may we add in charity!) atones for it. 



TO 



And thou wert sad — yet I was not with thee ; 
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near ; 
Methought that joy and health alone could be 
Where I was not— and pain and sorrow here ! 
And is it thus ? — it is as I foretold, 
And shall be more so ; for the mind recoils 
Upon itself, and the wreck' d heart lies cold, 
While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils. 
It is not in the storm nor in the strife 
We feel benumb 1 d, and wish to be no more, 
But in the after-silence on the shore, 
When all is lost, except a little life. 

I am too well avenged! — but 'twas my right: 
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent 



104 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

To be the Nemesis who should requite — 
Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument. 

Mercy is for the merciful ! — if thou 

Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now, 

Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of sleep ! — 

Yes ! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel 

A hollow agony which will not heal, 

For thou art pillow' d on a curse too deep : 

Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap 

The bitter harvest in a woe as real ! 

I have had many foes, but none like thee; 

For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend, 

And be avenged, or turn them into friend ; 

But thou in safe implacability 

Hadst nought to dread — in thy own weakness shielded, 

And in my love, which hath but too much yielded, 

And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare — 

And thus upon the world — trust in thy truth — 

And the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth — 

On things that were not, and on things that are — 

Even upon such a basis hast thou built 

A monument, whose cement hath been guilt ! 

The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord, 

And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword, 

Fame, peace, and hope — and all the better life 

Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart, 

Might stiU have risen from out the grave of strife, 

And found a nobler duty than to part. 

But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice, 

Trafficking with them in a purpose cold, 

For present anger, and for future gold — 

And buying other's grief at any price. 

And thus once enter'd into crooked ways, 

The early Truth, which was thy proper praise, 

Did not still walk beside thee — but at times, 

And with a breast unknowing its own crimes, 

Deceit, averments incompatible, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 105 

Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell 

In Janus-spirits — the significant eye 

Which learns to lie with silence — the pretext 

Of Prudence, with advantages annex'd — ■ 

The acquiescence in all things which tend, 

No matter how, to the desired end — 

All found a place in thy philosophy. 

The means were worthy, and the end is won — 

I would not do by thee as thou hast done ! 

It is evident that Lady Byron occupies his 
attention continually; he introduces her name 
frequently ; is fond of recurring to the brief period 
of their living together; dwells with complacency 
on her personal attractions, saying that though not 
regularly handsome, he liked her looks. He is 
very inquisitive about her ; was much disap- 
pointed that I had never seen her, nor could give 
any account of her appearance at present. In 
short, a thousand indescribable circumstances 
have left the impresssion on my mind that she 
occupies much of his thoughts, and that they 
appear to revert continually to her and his child. 
He owned to me, that when he reflected on the 
whole tenor of her conduct — the refusing any 
explanation — never answering his letters, or hold' 
ing out even a hope that in future years their 
child might form a bond of union between them, 
he felt exasperated against her, and vented this 
feeling in his writings; nay more, he blushed for 
his own weakness in thinking so often and so 



106 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

kindly of one who certainly showed no symptom 
of ever bestowing a thought on him. The mys- 
tery attached to Lady Byron's silence has piqued 
him, and kept alive an interest that, even now, 
appears as lively as if their separation was recent. 
There is something so humiliating in the con- 
sciousness that some dear object, to whom we 
thought ourselves necessary, and who occupies 
much of our thoughts, can forget that we exist, 
or at least act as if she did so, that I can well 
excuse the bitterness of poor Byron's feelings on 
this point, though not the published sarcasms 
caused by this bitterness; and whatever maybe 
the sufferings of Lady Byron, they are more than 
avenged by what her husband feels. 

It appears to me extraordinary, that a person 
who has given such interesting sketches of the 
female character, as Byron has in his works, 
should be so little au fait of judging feminine 
feeling under certain circumstances. He is sur- 
prised that Lady Byron has never relented since 
his absence from England; but he forgets how 
that absence has been filled up on his part. I 
ventured to suggest this, and hinted that, per- 
haps, had his conduct been irreproachable during 
the first years of their separation, and unstained 
by any attachment that could have widened the 
breach between them, it is possible that Lady 



WITH LORD BYRON. 107 

Byron might have become reconciled to him ; but 
that no woman of delicacy could receive or 
answer letters written beneath the same roof that 
sheltered some female favorite, whose presence 
alone proved that the husband could not have 
those feelings of propriety or affection towards 
his absent wife, the want of which constitutes a 
crime that all ivomen, at least, can understand to 
be one of those least pardonable. How few men 
understand the feelings of women! Sensitive, 
and easily wounded as we are, obliged to call 
up pride to support us in trials that always leave 
fearful marks behind, how often are we compelled 
to assume the semblance of coldness and indif- 
ference when the heart inly bleeds ; and the 
decent composure, put on with our visiting gar- 
ments to appear in public, and, like them, worn 
for a few hours, are with them laid aside ; and all 
the dreariness, the heart-consuming cares, that 
woman alone can know, return to make us feel, 
that though we may disguise our sufferings from 
others, and deck our countenance with smiles, we 
cannot deceive ourselves, and are but the more 
miserable from the constraint we submit to ! A 
woman only can understand a woman's heart — 
we cannot, dare not, complain — sympathy is 
denied us, because we must not lay open the 
wounds that excite it ; and even the most legiti- 



108 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

mate feelings are too sacred in female estimation 
to be exposed — thus while we nurse the grief 
" that lies too deep for tears," and consumes alike 
health and peace, a man may with impunity 
express all, nay, more than he feels — court and 
meet sympathy, while his leisure hours are cheered 
by occupations and pleasures, the latter too often 
such as ought to prove how little he stood in 
need of compassion, except for his vices. 

I stated something of this to Lord Byron 
to-day, apropos to the difference between his 
position and that of his wife. He tried to prove 
to me how much more painful was his situation 
than hers; but I effected some alteration in his 
opinion when I had fairly placed their relative 
positions before him — at least such as they 
appeared to me. I represented Lady Byron to 
him separating in early youth, whether from just 
or mistaken motives for such a step, from the 
husband of her choice, after little more than a 
brief year's union, and immediately after that 
union had been cemented by the endearing, 
strengthening tie of a new-born infant ! carrying 
with her into solitude this fond and powerful 
remembrancer of its father, how much must it 
have cost her to resist the appeals of such a 
pleader! — wearing away her youth in almost 
monastic seclusion, her motives questioned by 



WITH LOED BYE ON. 109 

some, and appreciated by few — seeking consola- 
tion alone in the discharge of her duties, and 
avoiding all external demonstrations of a grief 
that her pale cheek and solitary existence are such 
powerful vouchers for! Such is the portrait I 
gave him of Lady Byron — his own I ventured to 
sketch as follows. 

I did not enter into the causes, or motives, of 
the separation, because I know them not, but I 
dwelt on his subsequent conduct : — the appealing 
on the separation to public sympathy, by the pub- 
lication of verses which ought only to have met 
the eye of her to whom they were addressed, was 
in itself an outrage to that delicacy, that shrinks 
from, and shuns publicity, so inherent in the 
female heart. He leaves England — the climate, 
modes, and customs of which had never been 
congenial to his taste — to seek beneath the sunny 
skies of Italy, and all the soul-exciting objects 
that classic land can offer, a consolation for 
domestic disappointment. How soon were the 
broken ties of conjugal affection replaced by less 
holy ones ! I refer not to his attachment to La 
Contessa Guiccioli, because at least it is of a 
different and a more pure nature, but to those 
degrading liaisons which marked the first year or 
two of his residence in Italy and must ever, from 
their revolting coarseness, remain a stain on his 



HO JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

fame. It may be urged that disappointment and 
sorrow drove him into such excesses ; but admit- 
ting this, surely we must respect the grief that is 
borne in solitude, and with the most irreproach- 
able delicacy of conduct, more than that which 
flies to gross sensualities for relief. 

Such was the substance, and I believe nearly 
the words I repeated to him to-day ; and it is but 
justice to him to say that they seemed to make a 
deep impression. He said that if my portrait of 
Lady Byron's position was indeed a faithful one, 
she was much more to be pitied than he ; that he 
felt deeply for her, but that he had never viewed 
their relative situations in the same light before ; 
he had always considered her as governed wholly 
by pride. 

I urged that my statement was drawn from 
facts ; that, of the extreme privacy and seclusion 
of her life, ever since the separation, there could 
be no doubt, and this alone vouched for the feel- 
ings that led to it. 

He seemed pleased and gratified by the re- 
flections I had made, insensibly fell into a tone 
of tenderness in speaking of Lady Byron, and 
pressed my hand with more than usual cordiality. 
On bidding me good-bye, his parting words were, 
" You probe old and half-healed wounds, but 
though you give pain, you excite more healthy 
action, and do good." 



WITH LOED BYRON. HI 

His heart yearns to see his child ; all children 
of the same age remind him of her, and he loves 
to recur to the subject. 

Poor Byron has hitherto been so continually 
occupied with dwelling on, and analyzing his 
own feelings, that he has not reflected on those, 
of his wife. He cannot understand her observing 
such a total silence on their position, because he 
could not, and cannot, resist making it the topic 
of conversation with even chance associates ; this, 
which an impartial observer of her conduct would 
attribute to deep feelings, and a sense of delicacy, 
he concludes to be caused by pride and want of 
feeling. We are always prone to judge of others 
by ourselves, which is one of the reasons why our 
judgments are in general so erroneous. Man 
may be judged of by his species en masse, but he 
wdio w r ould judge of mankind in the aggregate, 
from one specimen of the genus, must be often in 
error, and this is Byron's case. 

Lord Byron told me to-day, that he had been 
occupied in the morning making his will ; that 
he had left the bulk of his fortune to his sister, as 
his daughter having, in right of her mother, a 
large fortune, he thought it unnecessary to in- 
crease it ; he added that he had left La Contessa 
Guiccioli £10,000, and had intended to have left 
her £25,000, but that she had suspected his in- 



112 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

tentions, and urged him so strongly not to do so, 
or indeed to leave her any thing, that he had 
changed the sum to <£ 10,000. He said that this 
was one, of innumerable instances, of her delicacy 
and disinterestedness, of which he had repeated 
proofs ; that she was so fearful of the possibility 
of having interested motives attributed to her, 
that he was certain she would prefer the most 
extreme poverty to incurring such a suspicion. I 
observed, that were I he, I would have left her 
the sum I had originally intended, as, in case of 
his death, it would be a flattering proof of his 
esteem for her, and she had always the power of 
refusing the whole, or any part of the bequest 
she thought proper. It appeared to me, that 
the more delicacy and disinterestedness she dis- 
played, the more decided ought he to be, in 
marking his appreciation of her conduct. He 
appeared to agree with me, and passed many 
encomiums on La Contessa. 

He talked to-day of Sir Francis Burdett, of 
whose public and private character he entertains 
the most exalted opinion. He said that it was 
gratifying to behold in him the rare union of a 
heart and head that left nothing to be desired, 
and dwelt with evident pride and pleasure on the 
mental courage displayed by Sir Francis in be- 
friending and supporting him, when so many of 



WITH LOED BYRON. 113 

his professed friends stood aloof, on his separa- 
tion from Lady Byron. The defalcation of his 
friends, at the moment he most required them, 
has made an indelible impression on his mind, 
and has given him a very bad opinion of his 
countrymen. I endeavored to reason him out 
of this, by urging the principle that mankind, 
en masse, are every where the same, but he de- 
nied this, on the plea that, as civilization had 
arrived at a greater degree of perfection in Eng- 
land than elsewhere, selfishness, its concomitant, 
there flourished so luxuriantly, as to overgrow all 
generous and kind feelings. He quoted various 
examples of friends, and even the nearest rela- 
tions, deserting each other in the hour of need, 
fearful that any part of the censure heaped on 
some less fortunate connection might fall on 
them. I am unwilling to believe that his pic- 
tures are not overdrawn, and hope I shall always 
think so — 

" Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." 

" Talking of friends," said Byron, " Mr. Hob- 
house has been the most impartial, or perhaps 
(added he) unpartial of all my friends ; he always 
told me my faults, but I must do him the justice to 
add, that he told them to me, and not to others." 
I observed that the epithet impartial was the ap- 
plicable one ; but he denied it, saying that Mr. 



114 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Hobhouse must have been impartial, to have dis- 
cerned all the errors he had pointed out ; " but," 
he added, laughing, " I could have told him of 
some more which he had not discovered, for, 
even then, avarice had made itself strongly felt 
in my nature." 

Byron came to see us to-day, and appeared ex- 
tremely discomposed ; after half an hour's con- 
versation on indifferent subjects, he at length 
broke forth with, " Only fancy my receiving to- 
day a tragedy dedicated as follows — ' From 

George to George Byron ! ' This is being 

cool with a vengeance. I never was more pro- 
voked. How stupid, how ignorant to pass over 
my rank ! I am determined not to read the 
tragedy ; for a man capable of committing such 
a solecism in good breeding and common de- 
cency, can write nothing worthy of being read." 
We were astonished at witnessing the annoy- 
ance this circumstance gave him, and more than 
ever convinced, that the pride of aristocracy is 
one of the peculiar features of his character. If 
he sometimes forgets his rank, he never can for- 
give any one else's doing so ; and as he is not 
naturally dignified, and his propensity to flip- 
pancy renders him still less so, he often finds 
himself in a false position, by endeavoring to 
recover lost ground. We endeavored to console 



WITH LOED BYRON. 115 

him by telling him that we knew Mr. George 
— — a little, and that he was clever and agree- 
able, as also that his passing over the title of 
Byron was meant as a compliment — it was a 
delicate preference shown to the renown accord- 
ed to George Byron the poet, over the rank and 
title, which were adventitious advantages, enno- 
bled by the possessor, but that could add nothing 
to his fame. All our arguments were vain ; he 
said " this could not be the man's feelings, as he 
reduced him (Lord Byron) to the same level as 
himself." It is strange to see a person of such 
brilliant and powerful genius sullied by such in- 
congruities. Were he but sensible how much the 
Lord is overlooked in the Poet he would be less 
vain of his rank ; but as it is, this vanity is very 
prominent, and resembles more the pride of a 
parvenu than the calm dignity of an ancient aris- 
tocrat. It is also evident that he attaches im- 
portance to the appendages of rank and station. 
The trappings of luxury, to which a short use 
accustoms every one, seem to please him ; he 
observes, nay, comments upon them, and oh ! 
mortifying conclusion, appears, at least for the 
moment, to think more highly of their possessors. 
As his own mode of life is so extremely simple, 
this seems the more extraordinary ; but every 
thing in him is contradictory and extraordinary. 



lie JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Of his friends he remarks, "this or that person 
is a man of family, or he is a parvenu, the marks 
of which character, in spite of all his affected 
gentility, break out in a thousand ways." We 
were not prepared for this ; we expected to meet 
a man more disposed to respect the nobility of 
genius than that of rank ; but we have found the 
reverse. In talking of Ravenna, the natal resi- 
dence of La Contessa Guiccioli, he dwells with 
peculiar complacency on the equipage of her hus- 
band ; talks of the six black carriage-horses, with- 
out which the old Conte seldom moved, and their 
spacious palazzo ; also the wealth of the Conte, 
and the distinguished connections of the lady. 
He describes La Contessa as being of the mid- 
dle stature, finely formed, exquisitely fair, her 
features perfectly regular, and the expression of 
her countenance remarkable for its animation 
and sweetness, her hair auburn, and of great 
beauty. No wonder, then, that such rare charms 
have had power to fix his truant heart; and, as he 
says that to these she unites accomplishments 
and amiability, it may be concluded, as indeed 
he declares, that this is his last attachment. He 
frequently talks of Alfieri, and always with en- 
thusiastic admiration. He remarks On the simi- 
larity of their tastes and pursuits, their domes- 
ticating themselves with women of rank, their 



WITH LORD BYRON. 117 

fondness for animals, and above all, for horses; 
their liking to be surrounded by birds and pets of 
various descriptions, their passionate love of lib- 
erty, habitual gloom, &c. &c. In short, he pro- 
duces so many points of resemblance, that it 
leads one to suspect that he is a copy of an 
original he has long studied. 

This, again, proceeds from a want of self-re- 
spect ; but we may well pardon it, when we reflect 
on the abuse, calumny, envy, hatred, and malice, 
that, in spite of all his genius, have pursued him 
from the country that genius must adorn. 

Talking of Alfieri, he told me to-day, that 
when that poet was travelling in Italy, a very 
romantic, and, as he called her, tete montee Ital- 
ian Principessa, or Duchessa, who had long been 
an enthusiastic admirer of his works, having 
heard that he was to pass within fifty miles of 
her residence, set of to encounter him ; and hav- 
ing arrived at the inn where he sojourned, was 
shown into a room where she was told Alfieri 
was writing. She enters agitated and fatigued 
— sees a very good-looking man seated at a ta- 
ble whom she concludes must be Alfieri, throws 
herself into his arms — and, in broken words, de- 
clares her admiration, and the distance she has 
come to declare it. In the midst of the lady's 
impassioned speeches, Alfieri enters the room, 



118 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

casts a glance of surprise and hauteur at the 
pair, and lets fall some expression that discloses 
to the humbled Principessa the shocking mistake 
she has made. 

The poor Secretary (for such he was) is blamed 
by the lady, while he declares his innocence, find- 
ing himself, as he says, in the embraces of a lady 
who never allowed him even a moment to inter- 
rupt her, by the simple question of what she 
meant ! Alfieri retired in offended dignity, shocked 
that any one could be mistaken for him, while 
the Principessa had to retrace her steps, her en- 
thusiasm somewhat cooled by the mistake and its 
consequences. 

Byron says that the number of anonymous 
amatory letters and portraits he has received, and 
all from English ladies, would fill a large volume. 
He says he has never noticed any of them ; but it 
is evident he recurs to them with complacency. 

He talked to-day of a very different kind of 
letter, which appears to have made a profound 
impression on him ; he has promised to show it 
to me ; it is from a Mr. Sheppard, inclosing him 
a prayer offered up for Byron, by the wife of Mr. 
Sheppard, and sent since her death. He says he 
never was more touched than on perusing it, and 
that it has given him a better opinion of human 
nature. 



WITH LOKD BYRON. 119 

The following is the copy of the letter and 
prayer, which Lord Byron has permitted me to 
make : — 

" TO LORD BYRON. 

" Frome, Somerset, Nov. 21, 1821. 

" My Lord : More than two years since, a 
lovely and beloved wife was taken from me, by 
a lingering disease, after a very short union. She 
possessed unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and 
a piety so retiring as rarely to disclose itself in 
words, but so influential as to produce uniform 
benevolence of conduct. In the last hour of life, 
after a farewell look on a lately-born and only 
infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible 
affection, her last whispers were, < God's happi- 
ness ! — God's happiness ! ' 

" Since the second anniversary of her decease, 
I have read some papers which no one had seen 
during her life, and which contain her most secret 
thoughts. I am induced to communicate to your 
Lordship a passage from these papers, which 
there is no doubt refers to yourself, as I have 
more than once heard the writer mention your 
agility on the rocks at Hastings. 

" ' Oh, my God, I take encouragement from the 
assurance of thy word, to pray to Thee in behalf 
of one for whom I have lately been much inter- 



120 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

ested. May the person to whom I allude (and 
who is now, we fear, as much distinguished for 
his neglect of Thee as for the transcendant talents 
Thou hast bestowed on him,) be awakened to a 
sense of his own danger, and led to seek that 
peace of mind in a proper sense of religion, which 
he has found this world's enjoyment unable to 
procure ! Do Thou grant that his future example 
may be productive of far more extensive benefit 
than his past conduct and writings have been of 
evil ; and may the Sun of Righteousness, which 
we trust will, at some future period, arise on him, 
be bright in proportion to the darkness of those 
clouds which guilt has raised around him, and 
the balm which it bestows, healing and soothing 
in proportion to the keenness of that agony which 
the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him ! 
May the hope that the sincerity of my own efforts 
for the attainment of holiness, and the approval 
of my own love for the Great Author of religion, 
will render this prayer, and every other for the 
welfare of mankind, more efficacious— cheer me 
in the path of duty ; but, let me not forget, that 
while we are permitted to animate ourselves to 
exertion by every innocent motive, these are but 
the lesser streams which may serve to increase 
the current, but which, deprived of the grand 
fountain of good, (a deep conviction of inborn sin, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 121 

and firm belief in the efficacy of Christ's death 
for the salvation of those who trust in him, and 
really wish to serve him,) would soon dry up, and 
leave us barren of every virtue as before. — 

Hastings, July 31, 1814.' 

" There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract 
which, in a literary sense, can at all interest you ; 
but it may, perhaps, appear to you how worthy of 
reflection how deep and expansive a concern for 
the happiness of others the Christian faith can 
awaken in the midst of youth and prosperity. 
Here is nothing poetical and splendid, as in the 
expostulatory homage of M. Delamartine ; but 
here is the sublime, my Lord ; for this intercession 
was offered on your account, to the supreme 
Source of happiness. It sprang fr # om a faith more 
confirmed than that of the French poet, and from 
a charity, which, in combination with faith, 
showed its power unimpaired amidst the languors 
and pains of approaching dissolution. I will hope 
that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply sin- 
cere, may not always be unavailing. 

" It would add nothing, my Lord, to the fame 
with which your genius has surrounded you, for 
an unknown and obscure individual to express 
his admiration of it. I had rather be numbered 
with those who wish and pray, that ' wisdom 



122 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

from above,' and 4 peace,' and 'joy,' may enter 
such a mind. John Sheppard." 

On reading this letter and prayer, which Byron 
did aloud, before he consigned it to me to copy, 
and with a voice tremulous from emotion, and 
seriousness of aspect that showed how deeply it 
affected him, he observed, " Before I had read 
this prayer, I never rightly understood the ex- 
pression, so often used, ' The beauty of holiness.' 
This prayer and letter has done more to give me 
a good opinion of religion, and its professors, than 
all the religious books I ever read in my life. 

" Here were two most amiable and exalted 
minds offering prayers and wishes for the salva- 
tion of one considered by three parts of his coun- 
trymen to be beyond the pale of hope, and 
charitably doomed to everlasting torments. The 
religion that prays and hopes for the erring is the 
true religion, and the only one that could make a 
convert of me ; and I date (continued Byron) my 
first impressions against religion to having wit- 
nessed how little its votaries were actuated by 
any true feeling of Christian charity. Instead of 
lamenting the disbelief, or pitying the transgres- 
sions (or at least the consequence) of the sinner, 
they at once cast him off, dwell with acrimony 
on his errors, and, not content with foredooming 
him to eternal punishment hereafter, endeavor, as 



WITH LORD BYEON. 123 

much as they can, to render his earthly existence 
as painful as possible, until they have hardened 
him in his errors, and added hatred of his species 
to their number. Were all religious people like 
Mr. Sheppard and the amiable wife he has lost, 
we should have fewer skeptics ; such examples 
would do more towards the work of conversion 
than all that ever was written on the subject. 

" When Religion supports the sufferer in afflic- 
tion and sickness, even unto death, its advantages 
are so visible, that all must wish to seek such a 
consolation ; and when it speaks peace and hope 
to those who have strayed from its path, it softens 
feelings that severity must have hardened, and 
leads back the wanderer to the fold ; but when it 
clothes itself in anger, denouncing vengeance, or 
shows itself in the pride of superior righteousness, 
condemning, rather than pitying, all erring broth- 
ers, it repels the wavering, and fixes the unrepent- 
ant in their sins. Such a religion can make few 
converts, but may make many dissenters to its 
tenets ; for in religion, as in every thing else, its 
utility must be apparent, to encourage people to 
adopt its precepts; and the utility is never so 
evident as when we see professors of religion sup- 
ported by its consolations, and willing to extend 
these consolations to those who have still more 
need of them — the misguided and the erring." 



124 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

They who accuse Byron of being an unbeliever 
are wrong ; he is skeptical, but not unbelieving ; 
and it appears not unlikely to me that a time 
may come when his wavering faith in many of 
the tenets of religion may be as firmly fixed as is 
now his conviction of the immortality of the soul 
— a conviction that he declares every fine and 
noble impulse of his nature renders more decided. 
He is a sworn foe to Materialism, tracing every 
defect to which we are subject, to the infirmities 
entailed on us by the prison of clay in which the 
heavenly spark is confined. Conscience, he says, 
is to him another proof of the Divine Origin of 
Man, as is also his natural tendency to the love 
of good. A fine day, a moonlight night, or any 
other fine object in the phenomena of nature, 
excites (said Byron) strong feelings of religion 
in all elevated minds, and an outpouring of the 
spirit to the Creator, that, call it what we may, is 
the essence of innate love and gratitude to the 
Divinity. 

There is a seriousness in Byron's manner, when 
he gets warmed by his subject, that impresses one 
with the truth of his statements. He observed to 
me, " I seldom talk of religion, but I feel it, per- 
haps, more than those who do. I speak to you 
on this topic freely, because I know you will 
neither laugh at, nor enter into a controversy with 



WITH LOED BYE ON. 125 

me. It is strange, but true, that Mrs. Sheppard 
is mixed up with all my religious aspirations ; 
nothing ever so excited my imagination, and 
touched my heart, as her prayer. I have pictured 
her to myself a thousand times in the solitude of 
her chamber, struck by a malady that generally 
engrosses all feeling for self, and those near and 
dear to one, thinking of and praying for me, who 
was deemed by all an outcast. Her purity— her 
blameless life — and the deep humility expressed 
in her prayer — render her, in my mind, the most 
interesting and angelic creature that ever existed, 
and she mingles in all my thoughts of a future 
state. I would give any thing to have her por- 
trait, though perhaps it would destroy the beau 
ideal I have formed of her. What strange 
thoughts pass through the mind, and how much 
are we influenced by adventitious circumstances ! 
The phrase lovely, in the letter of Mr. Sheppard, 
has invested the memory of his wife with a 
double interest ; but beauty and goodness have 
always been associated in my mind, because, 
through life, I have found them generally go 
together. I do not talk of mere beauty (continued 
Byron) of feature or complexion, but of expres- 
sion, that looking out of the soul through the 
eyes, which, in my opinion, constitutes true 
beauty. Women have been pointed out to me 



126 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

as beautiful who never could have interested my 
feelings, from their want of countenance, or ex- 
pression, which means countenance; and others, 
who were little remarked, have struck me as being 
captivating, from the force of countenance. A 
woman's face ought to be like an April day — 
susceptible of change and variety; but sunshine 
should often gleam over it, to replace the clouds 
and showers that may obscure its lustre — which, 
poetical description apart (said Byron) in sober 
prose means, that good-humored smiles ought to 
be ready to chase away the expression of pen- 
siveness or care that sentiment or earthly ills call 
forth. Women were meant to be the exciters of 
all that is finest in our natures, and the soothers 
of all that is turbulent and harsh. Of what use, 
then, can a handsome automaton be, after one 
has got acquainted with a face that knows no 
change, though it causes many ? This is a style 
of looks I could not bear the sight of for a week ; 
and yet such are the looks that pass in society 
for pretty, handsome, and beautiful. How beau- 
tiful Lady C was ! She had no great variety 

of expression, but the predominant ones were 
purity, calmness, and abstraction. She looked 
as if she had never caused an unhallowed senti- 
ment, or felt one — a sort of ' moonbeam on the 
snow,' as our friend Moore would describe her, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 127 

that was lovely to look on. — Lady A. F — — - was 
also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of 
women in the past tense. What a pity, that of 
all flowers, none fade so soon as beauty ! Poor 

Lady A. F has not got married. Do you 

know, I once had some thoughts of her as a wife ; 
not that I was in love, as people call it, but I had 
argued myself into a belief that I ought to marry, 
and meeting her very often in society, the notion 
came into my head, not heart, that she would suit 
me. Moore, too, told me so much of her good 
qualities, all which was, I believe, quite true, that 
I felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, 
whether tant mieux or tant pis, God knows, sup- 
posing my proposal accepted. No marriage could 
have turned out more unfortunately than the one 
I made — that is quite certain ; and, to add to my 
agreeable reflections on this subject, I have the 
consciousness that had I possessed sufficient com- 
mand over my own wayward humor, I might 
have rendered myself so dear and necessary to 
Lady Byron, that she would not, could not, have 
left me. It is certainly not very gratifying to my 
vanity to have been plante after so short a union, 
and within a few weeks after being made a father 
— a circumstance that one would suppose likely 
to cement the attachment. I always get out of 
temper when I recur to this subject ; and yet, 



128 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

malgre moi, I find myself continually recurring 
to it. 

Byron is a perfect chameleon, possessing the 
fabulous qualities attributed to that animal, of 
taking the color of whatever touches him. He is 
conscious of this, and says it is owing to the 
extreme mobilite of his nature, which yields to 
present impressions. It appears to me, that the 
consciousness of his own defects renders him still 
less tolerant to those of others ; this perhaps is 
owing to their attempts to conceal them, more 
than from natural severity, as he condemns hy- 
pocrisy more than any other vice — saying it is 
the origin of all. If vanity, selfishness, or mun- 
dane sentiments are brought in contact with him, 
every arrow in the armory of ridicule is let fly, 
and there is no shield sufficiently powerful to 
withstand them. If vice approaches, he assails 
it with the bitterest gall of satire ; but when 
goodness appears, and that he is assured it is 
sincere, all the dormant affections of his nature 
are excited, and it is impossible not to observe 
how tender and affectionate a heart his must 
have been ere circumstances had soured it. This 
was never more displayed than in the impression 
made on him by the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard, 
and the letter of her husband. It is also evident 
in the generous impulses that he betrays on hear- 



WITH LOED BYEON. 129 

ins: of distress or misfortune, which he endeavors 
to alleviate ; and, unlike the world in general, 
Byron never makes light of the griefs of others, 
but shows commiseration and kindness. "There 
are days when he excites so strong an interest 
and sympathy, by showing such undoubtable 
proofs of good feeling, that every previous im- 
pression to his disadvantage fades away, and one 
is vexed with one's self for ever having harbored 
them. But, alas ! " the morrow comes," and he 
is no longer the same being. Some disagreeable 
letter, review, or new example of the slanders 
with which he has been for years assailed, changes 
the whole current of his feelings — renders him 
reckless, sardonic, and as unlike the Byron of the 
day before, as if they had nothing in common — 
nay, he seems determined to efface any good im- 
pressions he might have made, and appears angry 
with himself for having yielded to the kindly 
feelings that gave birth to it. After such exhibi- 
tions, one feels perplexed what opinion to form 
of him ; and the individual who has an oppor- 
tunity of seeing Byron very often, and for any 
length of time, if he or she stated the daily im- 
pressions candidly, would find, on reviewing them, 
a mass of heterogeneous evidence, from which it 
would be most difficult to draw a just conclu- 
sion. The affectionate manner in which he 



130 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

speaks of some of his juvenile companions, has 
a delicacy and tenderness resembling the nature 
of woman more than that of man, and leads me 
to think that an extreme sensitiveness, checked 
by coming in contact with persons incapable of 
appreciating it, and affections chilled by finding 
a want of sympathy, have repelled, but could not 
eradicate, the seeds of goodness that now often 
send forth blossoms, and, with culture, may yet 
produce precious fruits. 

I am sure that, if ten individuals undertook 
the task of describing Byron, no two of the ten 
would agree in their verdict respecting him, or 
convey any portrait that resembled the other, and 
yet the description of each might be correct, ac- 
cording to his or her received opinion ; but the 
truth is, the chameleon-like character or manner 
of Byron renders it difficult to portray him ; and 
the pleasure he seems to take in misleading his 
associates in their estimate of him increases the 
difficulty of the task. This extraordinary fancy 
of his has so often struck me, that I expect to 
see all the persons who have lived with him giv- 
ing portraits, each unlike the other, and yet all 
bearing a resemblance to the original at some 
one time. Like the pictures given of some cele- 
brated actor in his different characters, each like- 
ness is affected by the dress and the part he has 



WITH LOED BYEON. 131 

to fill. The portrait of John Kemble in Cato, 
resembles not Macbeth nor Hamlet, and yet each 
is an accurate likeness of that admirable actor 
in those characters ; so Byron, changing every 
day, and fond of misleading those whom he 
suspects might be inclined to paint him, will 
always appear different from the hand of each 
limner. 

During our rides in the vicinity of Genoa, we 
frequently met several persons, almost all of them 
English, who evidently had taken that route pur- 
posely to see Lord Byron. " Which is he ? " 
" That's he," I have frequently heard whispered, 
as the different groups extended their heads to 
gaze at him ; while he has turned to me — his pale 
face assuming, for the moment, a warmer tint — 
and said, " How very disagreeable it is to be so 
stared at ! If you knew how I detest it, you 
would feel how great must be my desire to enjoy 
the society of my friends at the Hotel de la Ville, 
when I pay the price of passing through the 
town, and exposing myself to the gazing multi- 
tude on the stairs and in the antechambers." 
Yet there were days when he seemed more 
pleased than displeased at being followed and 
stared at. All depended on the humor he was 
in. When gay, he attributed the attention he 
excited to the true cause — admiration of his ge- 



132 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

nius ; but when in a less good-natured humor, he 
looked on it as an impertinent curiosity, caused 
by the scandalous histories circulated against him, 
and resented it as such. 

He was peculiarly fond of flowers, and gener- 
ally bought a large bouquet every day of a gar- 
dener whose grounds we passed. He told me 
that he liked to have them in his room, though 
they excited melancholy feelings, by reminding 
him of the evanescence of all that is beautiful, 
but that the melancholy was of a softer, milder 
character, than his general feelings. 

Observing Byron one day in more than usually 
low spirits, I asked him if any thing painful had 
occurred. He sighed deeply, and said — " No, 
nothing new ; the old wounds are still unhealed, 
and bleed afresh on the slightest touch, so that 
God knows there needs nothing new. Can I 
reflect on my present position without bitter feel- 
ings ? Exiled from my country by a species of 
ostracism — the most humiliating to a proud mind, 
when daggers and not shells were used to ballot, 
inflicting mental wounds more deadly and diffi- 
cult to be healed than all that the body could 
suffer. Then the notoriety (as I call what you 
would kindly name fame) that follows me, pre- 
cludes the privacy I desire, and renders me an 
object of curiosity, which is a continual source 



WITH LOED BYRON. 133 

of irritation to my feelings. I am bound, by the 
indissoluble ties of marriage to one who will not 
live with me, and live with one to whom I can- 
not give a legal right to be my companion, and 
who, wanting that right, is placed in a position 
humiliating to her and most painful to me. 
Were the Contessa Guiccioli and I married, 
we should, I am sure, be cited as an example 
of conjugal happiness, and the domestic and 
retired life we lead would entitle us to respect; 
but our union, wanting the legal and religious 
part of the ceremony of marriage, draws on us 
both censure and blame. She is formed to make 
a good wife to any man to whom she attached 
herself. She is fond of retirement — is of a most 
affectionate disposition — and noble-minded and 
disinterested to the highest degree. Judge, then, 
how mortifying it must be to me to be the cause 
of placing her in a false position. All this is not 
thought of when people are blinded by passion, 
but when passion is replaced by better feelings — 
those of affection, friendship, and confidence — 
when, in short, the liaison has all of marriage but 
its forms, then it is that we wish to give it the 
respectability of wedlock. It is painful (said By- 
ron) to find one's self growing old without — 

that which should accompany old age, 
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends. 



134 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

I feel this keenly, reckless as I appear, though 
there are few to whom I would avow it, and cer- 
tainly not to a man." 

" With all my faults," said Byron one day, " and 
they are, as you will readily believe, innumerable, 
I have never traduced the only two women with 
whom I was ever domesticated, Lady Byron and 
the Contessa Guiccioli. Though I have had, God 
knows, reason to complain of Lady Byron's leav- 
ing me, and all that her desertion entailed, I defy 
malice itself to prove that I ever spoke against 
her ; on the contrary, I have always given her 
credit for the many excellent and amiable quali- 
ties she possesses, or at least possessed, when I 
knew her ; and I have only to regret that for- 
giveness, for real or imagined wrongs, was not 
amongst their number. Of the Guiccioli, I could 
not, if I would, speak ill ; her conduct towards 
me has been faultless, and there are few examples 
of such complete and disinterested affection as 
she has shown towards me all through our at- 
tachment." 

I observed in Lord Byron a candor in talking 
of his own defects, nay, a seeming pleasure in 
dwelling on them, that I never remarked in any 
other person : I told him this one day, and he 
answered, " Well, does not that give you hopes 
of my amendment ? " My reply was, " No ; I 



WITH LORD BYRON. 135 

fear by continually recapitulating them, you will 
get so accustomed to their existence, as to con- 
quer your disgust of them. You remind me of 
Belcour, in the ' West Indian,' when he exclaims, 
' No one sins with more repentance, or repents 
with less amendment than I do.' " He laughed, 
and said, " Well, only wait, and you will see me 
one day become all that I ought to be ; I am de- 
termined to leave my sins, and not wait until they 
leave me ; I have reflected seriously on all my 
faults, and that is the first step towards amend- 
ment. Nay, I have made more progress than 
people give me credit for ; but the truth is, I have 
such a detestation of cant, and am so fearful of 
being suspected of yielding to its outcry, that I 
make myself appear rather worse than better than 
lam." 

" You will believe me, what I sometimes be- 
lieve myself, mad," said Byron one day, " when I 
tell you that I seem to have' two states of exist- 
ence, one purely contemplative, during which the 
crimes, faults, and follies of mankind are laid 
open to my view, (my own forming a prominent 
object in the picture,) and the other active, when 
I play my part in the drama of life, as if impelled 
by some power over which I have no control, 
though the consciousness of doing wrong re- 
mains. It is as though I had the faculty of dis- 



136 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

covering error, without the power of avoiding it. 
How do you account for this ? " I answered, 
" That, like all the phenomena of thought, it was 
unaccountable ; but that contemplation, when too 
much indulged, often produced the same effect on 
the mental faculties that the dwelling on bodily- 
ailments effected in the physical powers — we 
might become so well acquainted with diseases, 
as to find all their symptoms in ourselves and 
others, without the power of preventing or curing 
them ; nay, by the force of imagination, might 
end in the belief that we were afflicted with them 
to such a degree as to lose all enjoyment of life, 
which state is termed hypochondria ; but the 
hypochondria which arises from the belief in 
mental diseases is still more insupportable, and 
is increased by contemplation of the supposed 
crimes or faults, so that the mind should be often 
relaxed from its extreme tension, and other and 
less exciting subjects of reflection presented to it. 
Excess in thinking, like all other excesses, pro- 
duces reaction, and add the two words 'too 
much ' before the word thinking, in the two lines 
of the admirable parody of the brothers Smith — 

Thinking is but an idle waste of thought, 

And nought is everything, and everything is nought ; 

and instead of parody, it becomes true philoso- 

Pby." 



WITH LOED BYKON. 137 

We both laughed at the abstract subject we 
had fallen upon ; and Byron remarked, " How 
few would guess the general topics that occupy 
our conversation ! " I added, " It may not, per- 
haps, be very amusing, but at all events it is 
better than scandal." He shook his head, and 
said, "All subjects are good in their way, pro- 
vided they are sufficiently diversified ; but scandal 
has something so piquant — it is a sort of Cayenne 
to the mind — that I confess I like it, particularly 
if the objects are one's own particular friends." 

" Of course you know Luttrel," said Lord 
Byron. " He is a most agreeable member of 
society, the best sayer of good things, and the 
most epigrammatic conversationist I ever met ; 
there is a terseness, and wit, mingled with fancy, 
in his observations, that no one else possesses, 
and no one so peculiarly understands the apropos. 
His 'Advice to Julia' is pointed, witty, and full 
of observation, showing in every line a knowledge 
of society, and a tact rarely met with. Then, 
unlike all, or most other wits, Luttrel is never 
obtrusive ; even the choicest bon mots are only 
brought forth when perfectly applicable and then 
are given in a tone of good breeding which en- 
hances their value. 

" Moore is very sparkling in a choice or chosen 
society (said Byron); with lord and lady listeners 



138 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

he shines like a diamond, and thinks that, like 
that precious stone, his brilliancy should be re- 
served pour le beau monde. Moore has a happy- 
disposition, his temper is good, and he has a sort 
of fire-fly imagination, always in movement, and 
in each evolution displaying new brilliancy. He 
has not done justice to himself in living so much 
in society ; much of his talents are frittered away 
in display, to support the character of ' a man of 
wit about town,' and Moore was meant for some- 
thing better. Society and genius are incompati- 
ble, and the latter can rarely, if ever, be in close or 
frequent contact with the former, without degen- 
erating; it is otherwise with wit and talent, which 
are excited and brought into play by the friction 
of society, which polishes and sharpens both. I 
judge from personal experience ; and as some 
portion of genius has been attributed to me, I 
suppose I may, without any extraordinary vanity, 
quote my ideas on this subject. Well, then, 
(continued Byron,) if I have any genius, (which 
I grant is problematical,) all I can say is, that I 
have always found it fade away, like snow before 
the sun, when I have been living much in the 
world. My ideas became dispersed and vague, I 
lost the power of concentrating my thoughts, and 
became another being ; you will perhaps think a 
better, on the principle that any change in me 



WITH LOED BYEON. 139 

must be for the better ; but no — instead of this, I 
became worse, for the recollection of former men- 
tal power remained, reproaching me with present 
inability, and increased the natural irritability of 
my nature. It must be this consciousness of di- 
minished power that renders old people peevish, 
and, I suspect, the peevishness will be in propor- 
tion to former ability. Those who have once ac- 
customed themselves to think and reflect deeply 
in solitude, will soon begin to find society irk- 
some ; the small money of conversation will ap- 
pear insignificant, after the weighty metal of 
thought to which they have been used, and like 
the man who was exposed to the evils of poverty 
while in possession of one of the largest dia- 
monds in the world, which, from its size, could 
find no purchaser, such a man will find himself 
in society unable to change his lofty and profound 
thoughts into the conventional small-talk of those 
who surround him. But, bless me ; how I have 
been holding forth (said Byron). Madame de 
Stael herself never declaimed more energetically, 
or succeeded better, in ennuyant her auditors than 
I have done, as I perceive you look dreadfully 
bored. I fear I am grown a sad proser, which is 
a bad thing, more especially after having been, 
what I swear to you I once heard a lady call me, 
a sad poet. The whole of my tirade might have 



140 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

been comprised in the simple statement of my 
belief that genius shuns society, and that, except 
for the indulgence of vanity, society would be 
well disposed to return the compliment, as they 
have little in common between them. 

" Who would willingly possess genius ? None, 
I am persuaded, who knew the misery it entails, 
its temperament producing continual irritation, 
destructive alike to health and happiness — and 
what are its advantages ? — to be envied, hated, 
and persecuted in life, and libelled in death. 
Wealth may be pardoned (continued Byron), if 
its possessor diffuses it liberally ; beauty may be 
forgiven provided it is accompanied by folly ; tal- 
ent may meet with toleration if it be not of a 
very superior order, but genius can hope for no 
mercy. If it be of a stamp that insures its cur- 
rency, those who are compelled to receive it will 
indemnify themselves by rinding out a thousand 
imperfections in the owner, and as they cannot 
approach his elevation, will endeavor to reduce 
him to their level by dwelling on the errors from 
which genius is not exempt, and which forms the 
only point of resemblance between them. We 
hear the* errors of men of genius continually 
brought forward, while those that belong to me- 
diocrity are unnoticed ; hence people conclude 
that errors peculiarly appertain to genius, and 



WITH LOED BYEON. 141 

that those who boast it not, are saved from them. 
Happy delusion ! but not even this belief can in- 
duce them to commiserate the faults they con- 
demn. It is the fate of genius to be viewed with 
severity instead of the indulgence that it ought 
to meet, from the gratification it dispenses to 
others; as if its endowments could preserve the 
possessor from the alloy that marks the nature of 
mankind. Who can walk the earth, with eyes 
fixed on the heavens, without often stumbling 
over the hinderances that intercept the path ? 
while those who are intent only on the beaten 
road escape. Such is the fate of men of genius ; 
elevated over the herd of their fellow-men, with 
thoughts that soar above the sphere of their phys- 
ical existence, no wonder that they stumble when 
treading the mazes of ordinary life, with irritated 
sensibility, and mistaken views of all the common 
occurrences they encounter." 

Lord Byron dined with us to-day ; we all ob- 
served that he was evidently discomposed ; the 
dinner and servants had no sooner disappeared, 
than he quoted an attack against himself in some 
newspaper as the cause. He was very much 
irritated — much more so than the subject merited, 
and showed how keenly alive he is to censure, 
though he takes so little pains to avoid exciting 
it. This is a strange anomaly that I have ob- 



142 JOUENAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

served in Byron — an extreme susceptibility to 
censorious observations, and a want of tact in 
not knowing how to steer clear of giving cause to 
them, that is extraordinary. He winces under 
castigation, and writhes in agony under the in- 
fliction of ridicule, yet gives rise to attack every 
day. Ridicule is, however, the weapon he most 
dreads, perhaps, because it is the one he wields 
with most power; and I observe he is sensitively 
alive to its slightest approach. It is also the 
weapon with which he assails all; friend and foe 
alike come under its cutting point; and the 
laugh, which accompanies each sally, as a deadly 
incision is made in some vulnerable quarter, so 
little accords with the wound inflicted, that it is 
as though one were struck down by summer 
lightning while admiring its brilliant play. 

Byron likes not contradiction ; he waxed wroth 
to-day, because I defended a friend of mine whom 
he attacked, but ended by taking my hand, and 
saying he honored me for the warmth with which 
I defended an absent friend, adding with irony, 
" Moreover, when he is not a poet, or even prose 
writer, by whom you can hope to be repaid by 
being handed down to posterity, as his defender." 

" I often think," said Byron, " that I inherit 
my violence and bad temper from my poor 
mother — not that my father, from all I could ever 



WITH LORD BYRON. 143 

learn, had a much better ; so that it is no wonder 
I have such a very bad one. As long as I can 
remember any thing, I recollect being subject to 
violent paroxysms of rage ; so disproportioned to 
the cause, as to surprise me when they were over, 
and this still continues. I cannot coolly view 
any thing that excites my feelings ; and once the 
lurking devil in me is roused, I lose all command 
of myself. I do not recover a good fit of rage 
for days after ; mind, I do not by this mean that 
the ill-humor continues, as, on the contrary, that 
quickly subsides, exhausted by its own violence ; 
but it shakes me terribly, and leaves me low and 
nervous after. Depend on it, people's tempers 
must be corrected while they are children ; for not 
all the good resolutions in the world can enable 
a man to conquer habits of ill-humor or rage, 
however he may regret having given way to 
them. My poor mother was generally in a rage 
every day, and used to render me sometimes 
almost frantic ; particularly when, in her passion, 
she reproached me with my personal deformity, 
I have left her presence to rush into solitude, 
where, unseen, I could vent the rage and mortifi- 
cation I endured, and curse the deformity, that I 
now began to consider as a signal mark of the 
injustice of Providence. Those were bitter mo- 
ments ; even now, the impression of them is vivid 



144 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

in my mind ; and they cankered a heart that I 
believe was naturally affectionate, and destroyed 
a temper always disposed to be violent. It was 
my feelings at this period that suggested the idea 
of ' The Deformed Transformed.' I often look 
back on the days of my childhood, and am as- 
tonished at the recollection of the intensity of my 
feelings at that period ; — first impressions are in- 
delible. My poor mother, and after her my 
school-fellows by their taunts, led me to consider 
my lameness as the greatest misfortune, and I 
have never been able to conquer this feeling. It 
requires great natural goodness of disposition, as 
well as reflection, to conquer the corroding bitter- 
ness that deformity engenders in the mind, and 
which, while preying on itself, sours one towards 
all the world. I have read, that where personal 
deformity exists, it may be always traced in the 
face, however handsome the face may be. I am 
sure that what is meant by this is, that the con- 
sciousness of it gives to the countenance an ha- 
bitual expression of discontent, which I believe is 
the case ; yet it is too bad (added Byron with 
bitterness) that, because one had a defective foot, 
one cannot have a perfect face." 

He indulges a morbid feeling on this subject 
that is extraordinary, and that leads me to think 
it has had a powerful effect in forming his char- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 145 

acter. As Byron had said that his own position 
had led to his writing " The Deformed Trans- 
formed," I ventured to remind him that, in the 
advertisement to that drama, he had stated it to 
have been founded on the novel of " The Three 
Brothers." He said that both statements were 
correct, and then changed the subject, without 
giving me an opportunity of questioning him on 
the unacknowledged, but visible, resemblances 
between other of his works and that extraordinary 
production. It is possible that he is unconscious 
of the plagiary of ideas he has committed ; for his 
reading is so desultory, that he seizes thoughts 
which in passing through the glowing alembic of 
his mind, become so embellished as to lose all 
identity with the original crude embryos he had 
adopted. This was proved to me in another 
instance, when a book that he was constantly in 
the habit of looking over fell into my hands, and 
I traced various passages marked by his pencil or 
by his notes ; which gave me the idea of having 
led to certain trains of thought in his works. He 
told me that he rarely ever read a page that did 
not give rise to chains of thought, the first idea 
serving as the original link on which the others 
were formed — 

Awake but one, and lo ! what myriads rise. 

I have observed, that, in conversation, some 

10 



146 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

trifling remark has often led him into long dis- 
quisitions, evidently elicited by it ; and so prolific 
is his imagination, that the slightest spark can 
warm it. 

Comte Pietro Gamba lent me the " Age of 
Bronze," with a request that his having done so 
should be kept a profound secret, as Lord Byron, 
he said, would be angry if he knew it. This is 
another instance of the love of mystification that 
marks Byron, in trifles as well as in things of 
more importance. What can be the motive for 
concealing a published book, that is in the hands 
of all England? 

Byron talks often of Napoleon, of whom he is 
a great admirer, and says that what he most likes 
in his character was his want of sympathy, which 
proves his knowledge of human nature, as those 
only could possess sympathy who were in happy 
ignorance of it. I told him that this carried its 
own punishment with it, as Napoleon found the 
want of sympathy when he most required it, and 
that some portion of what he affected to despise, 
namely, enthusiasm and sympathy, would have 
saved him from the degradations he twice under- 
went when deserted by those on whom he 
counted. Not all Byron's expressed contempt 
for mankind can induce me to believe that he has 
the feeling ; this is one of the many little artifices 



WITH LORD BYEON. 147 

which he condescends to make use of to excite 
surprise in his hearers, and can only impose on 
the credulous. He is vexed when he discovers 
that any of his little ruses have not succeeded, 
and is like a spoiled child who finds out that he 
cannot have every thing his own way. Were he 
but sensible of his own powers, how infinitely 
superior would he be, for he would see the use- 
lessness, as well as unworthiness, of being artifi- 
cial, and of acting to support the character he 
wishes to play — a misanthrope, which nature 
never intended him for, and which he is not, and 
never will be. I see a thousand instances of good 
feeling in Byron, but rarely a single proof of sta- 
bility; his abuse of friends, which is continual, 
has always appeared to me more inconsistent 
than ill-natured, and as if indulged in more to 
prove that he was superior to the partiality friend- 
ship engenders, than that they were unworthy of 
exciting the sentiment. He has the rage of dis- 
playing his knowledge of human nature, and thinks 
this knowledge more proved by pointing out the 
blemishes than the perfections of the subjects he 
anatomizes. Were he to confide in the effect his 
own natural character would produce, how much 
more would he be loved and respected ; whereas, 
at present, those who most admire the genius will 
be the most disappointed in the man. The love 



148 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

of mystification is so strong in Byron, that he 
is continually letting drop mysterious hints of 
events in his past life ; as if to excite curiosity, 
he assumes, on those occasions, a look and air 
suited to the insinuation conveyed ; if it has ex- 
cited the curiosity of his hearers, he is satisfied, 
looks still more mysterious, and changes the sub- 
ject ; but if it fails to rouse curiosity, he becomes 
evidently discomposed and sulky, stealing sly 
glances at the person he has been endeavoring to 
mystify, to observe the effect he has produced. 
On such occasions I have looked at him a little 
maliciously, and laughed, without asking a single 
question ; and I have often succeeded in making 
him laugh too at those mystifications, manquee as 
I called them. Byron often talks of the authors 
of the " Rejected Addresses," and always in 
terms of unqualified praise. He says that the 
imitations, unlike all other imitations, are full of 
genius, and that the " Cui Bono " has some lines 
that he should wish to have written. " Parodies," 
he said, " always gave a bad impression of the 
original, but in the 'Rejected Addresses' the 
reverse was the fact ; " and he quoted the second 
and third stanzas, in imitation of himself, as ad- 
mirable, and just what he could have wished to 
write on a similar subject. His memory is extra- 
ordinary, for he can repeat lines from every author 



WITH LORD BYRON. 149 

whose works have pleased him ; and in reciting 
passages that have called forth his censure or 
ridicule, it is no less tenacious. He observed on 
the pleasure he felt at meeting people with whom 
he could go over old subjects of interest, whether 
on persons or literature, and said that nothing 
cemented friendship or companionship so strongly 
as having read the same books and known the 
same people. 

I observed that when, in our rides, we came to 
any point of view, Byron paused, and looked at 
it, as if to impress himself with the recollection 
of it. He rarely praised what so evidently pleased 
him, and he became silent and abstracted for 
some time after, as if he was noting the principal 
features of the scene on the tablet of his memory. 
He told me that, from his earliest youth, he had 
a passion for solitude ; that the sea, whether in a 
storm or calm, was a source of deep interest to 
him, and filled his mind with thoughts. "An ac- 
quaintance of mine," said Byron, laughing, " who 
is a votary of the lake, or simple school, and to 
whom I once expressed this effect of the sea on 
me, said that I might in this case say that the 
ocean served me as a vast inkstand ; what do you 
think of that as a poetical image ? It reminds 
me of a man who, talking of the effect of Mont 
Blanc from a distant mountain, said that it re- 



150 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

minded him of a giant at his toilet, the feet in 
water, and the face prepared for the operation of 
shaving. Such observations prove that from the 
sublime to the ridiculous there is only one step, 
and really make one disgusted with the simple 
school." Recurring to fine scenery, Byron re- 
marked, " That as artists filled their sketch-books 
with studies from Nature, to be made use of on 
after occasions, so he laid up a collection of 
images in his mind, as a store to draw on when 
he required them, and he found the pictures much 
more vivid in recollection, when he had not ex- 
hausted his admiration in expressions, but con- 
centrated his powers in fixing them in memory. 
The end and aim of his life is to render himself 
celebrated ; hitherto his pen has been the instru- 
ment to cut his road to renown, and it has traced 
a brilliant path ; this, he thinks, has lost some of 
its point, and he is about to change it for the 
sword, to carve a new road to fame. Military 
exploits occupy much of his conversation, and 
still more of his attention ; but even on this sub- 
ject there is never the slightest elan, and it ap- 
pears extraordinary to see a man about to engage 
in a chivalrous, and, according to the opinion of 
many, a Utopian undertaking, for which his habits 
peculiarly unfit him, without any indication of 
the enthusiasm that leads men to embark in such 



WITH LOED BYRON. 151 

careers. Perhaps he thinks with Napoleon, that 
"II n'y a rien qui refroidit, comme 1' enthousiasme 
des autres;" but he is wrong — coldness has in 
general a sympathetic effect, and we are less dis- 
posed to share the feelings of others, if we observe 
that those feelings are not as warm as the occa- 
sion seems to require. 

There is something so exciting in the idea of 
the greatest poet of his day sacrificing his fortune, 
his occupations, his enjoyments — in short, offering 
up to the altar of Liberty all the immense advan- 
tages which station, fortune, and genius can be- 
stow, that it is impossible to reflect on it without 
admiration ; but when one hears this same person 
calmly talk of the worthlessness of the people he 
proposes to make those sacrifices for, the loans 
he means to advance, the uniforms he intends to 
wear, entering into petty details, and always with 
perfect sang froid, one's admiration evaporates, 
and the action loses all its charms, though the 
real merit of it still remains. Perhaps Byron 
wishes to show that his going to Greece is more 
an affair of principle than feelings and, as such, 
more entitled to respect, though perhaps less likely 
to excite warmer feelings. However this may be, 
his whole manner and conversation on the subject 
are calculated to chill the admiration such an 
enterprise ought to create, and to reduce it to a 
more ordinary standard. 



152 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Byron is evidently in delicate health, brought 
on by starvation, and a mind too powerful for the 
frame in which it is lodged. He is obstinate in 
resisting the advice of medical men and his 
friends, who all have represented to him the dan- 
gerous effects likely to ensue from his present sys- 
tem. He declares that he has no choice but that 
of sacrificing the body to the mind, as that when 
he eats as others do he gets ill, and loses ah power 
over his intellectual faculties ; that animal food 
engenders the appetite of the animal fed upon, 
and he instances the manner in which boxers are 
fed as a proof; while, on the contrary, a regime of 
fish and vegetables served to support existence 
without pampering it. I affected to think that his 
excellence in, and fondness of, swimming, arose 
from his continually living on fish, and he ap- 
peared disposed to admit the possibility, until, 
being no longer able to support my gravity, I 
laughed aloud, which for the first minute discom- 
posed him, though he ended by joining heartily 
in the laugh, and said — " Well, Miladi, after this 
hoax, never accuse me any more of mystifying ; 
you did take me in until you laughed." Nothing 
gratifies him so much as being told that he grows 
thin. This fancy of his is pushed to an almost 
childish extent; and he frequently asks — "Don't 
you think I am getting thinner ? " or, " Did you 



WITH LORD BYRON. 153 

ever see any one so thin as I am, who was not 
ill ? " He says he is sure no one could recollect 
him were he to go to England at present, and 
seems to enjoy this thought very much. 

Byron affects a perfect indifference to the opin- 
ion of the world, yet is more influenced by it than 
most people — not in his conduct, but in his dread 
of and wincing under its censures. He was ex- 
tremely agitated by his name being introduced in 

the P trial, as having assisted in making up 

the match, and showed a degree of irritation that 
proves he is as susceptible as ever to newspaper 
attacks, notwithstanding his boasts to the con- 
trary. This susceptibility will always leave him 
at the mercy of all those who may choose to 
write against him, however insignificant they 
may be. 

I noticed Byron one day more than usually irri- 
table, though he endeavored to suppress all symp- 
toms of it. After various sarcasms on the cant and 
hypocrisy of the times, which was always the sig- 
nal that he was suffering from some attack made 
on him, he burst forth in violent invectives against 
America, and said that she now rivalled her 
mother country in cant, as he had that morning 
read an article of abuse, copied from an Ameri- 
can newspaper, alluding to a report that he was 
going to reside there. We had seen the article, 



154 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

and hoped that it might have escaped his notice, 
but unfortunately he had perused it, and its effects 
on his temper were visible for several days after. 
He said that he never was sincere in his praises 
of the Americans, and that he only extolled their 
navy to pique Mr. Croker. There was something 
so childish in this avowal, that there was no keep- 
ing a serious face on hearing it ; and Byron smi- 
led himself, like a petulant spoiled child, who 
acknowledges having done something to spite a 
playfellow. 

Byron is a great admirer of the poetry of 
Barry Cornwall, which, he says, is full of imag- 
ination and beauty, possessing a refinement and 
delicacy, that, whilst they add all the charms of a 
woman's mind, take off none of the force of a 
man's. He expressed his hope that he would 
devote himself to tragedy, saying that he was 
sure he would become one of the first writers of 
the day. 

Talking of marriage, Byron said that there was 
no real happiness out of its pale. " If people like 
each other so well," said he, " as not to be able to 
live asunder, this is the only tie that can insure 
happiness — all others entail misery. I put religion 
and morals out of the question, though of course 
the misery will be increased tenfold by the influ- 
ence of both ; but, admitting persons to have 



WITH LOED BYKON. 155 

neither, (and many such are, by the good-natured 
world, supposed to exist,) still liaisons, that are 
not cemented by marriage, must produce unhap- 
piness, when there is refinement of mind, and 
that honorable fierte which accompanies it. The 
humiliations and vexations a woman, under such 
circumstances, is exposed to, cannot fail to have 
a certain effect on her temper and spirits, which 
robs her of the charms that won affection ; it ren- 
ders her susceptible and suspicious ; her self- 
esteem being diminished, she becomes doubly 
jealous of that of him for whom she lost it, and 
on whom she depends ; and if he has feeling to 
conciliate her, he must submit to a slavery much 
more severe than that of marriage, without its 
respectability. Women become exigeante always 
in proportion to their consciousness of a decrease 
in the attentions they desire ; and this very exige- 
ance accelerates the flight of the blind god, whose 
approaches, the Greek proverb says, are always 
made walking, but whose retreat is flying. I once 
wrote some lines expressive of my feelings on this 
subject, and you shall have them." He had no 
sooner repeated the first line than I recollected 
having the verses in my possession, having been 
allowed to copy them by Mr. D. Kinnaird the 
day he received them from Lord Byron. The 
following are the verses : — 



156 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

COMPOSED DEC. 1, 1819. 

Could Love for ever 
Run like a river, 
And Time's endeavor 

Be tried in vain ; 
No other pleasure 
With this could measure ; 
And as a treasure 

We'd hug the chain. 
But since our sighing 
Ends not in dying, 
And, formed for flying, 

Love plumes his wing ; 
Then, for this reason, 
Let's love a season; 
But let that season be only Spring. 

When lovers parted 
Feel broken hearted, 
And, all hopes thwarted, 

Expect to die; 
A few years older, 
Ah ! how much colder 
They might behold her 
For whom they sigh. 
When link'd together, 
Through every weather, 
We pluck Love's feather 

From out his wing, 
He'll sadly shiver, 
And droop for ever, 
Without the plumage that sped his spring. 

[or 
Shorn of the plumage which sped his spring.] 

Like Chiefs of Faction 
His life is action, — 



WITH LORD BYRON. 157 

A formal paction, 

Which curbs his reign, 
Obscures his glory, 
Despot no more, he 
Such territory 

Quits with disdain. • 
Still, still advancing, 
With banners glancing, 
His powers enhancing, 

He must march on : 
Repose but cloys him, 
Retreat destroys him ; 
Love brooks not a degraded throne ! 

Wait not, fond lover ! 
Till years are over, 
And then recover 

As from a dream ; 
While each bewailing 
The other's failing, 
With wrath and railing 

All hideous seem ; 
While first decreasing, 
Yet not quite ceasing, 
Pause not till teasing 

All passion blight : 
If once diminish' d, 
His reign is finish' d, — 
One last embrace then, and bid good night ! 

So shall Affection 
To recollection 
The dear connection 

Bring back with joy ; 
You have not waited 
Till, tired and hated, 
All passion sated, 
m to cloy. 



158 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Your last embraces 
Leave no cold traces, — 
The same fond faces 

As through the past ; 
And eyes, the mirrors 
Of your sweet errors, 
Reflect but raptures ; not least, though last ! 

True separations 

Ask more than patience ; 

What desperations 

From such have risen ! 
And yet remaining 
What is't but chaining 
Hearts which, once waning, 

Beat 'gainst their prison ? 
Time can but cloy love : 
And use destroy love : 
The winged boy, Love, 

Is but for boys ; 
You'll find it torture, 
Though sharper, shorter, 
To wean, and not wear out your joys. 

They are so unworthy of the author, that they 
are merely given as proof that the greatest genius 
can sometimes write bad verses ; as even Homer 
nods. I remarked to Byron, that the sentiment 
of the poem differed with that which he had just 
given me of marriage ; he laughed, and said, 
" Recollect, the lines were written nearly four years 
ago ; and we grow wiser as we grow older ; but 
mind, I still say, that I only approve marriage 
when the persons are so much attached as not to 



WITH LOED BYRON. 159 

be able to live asunder, which ought always to be 
tried by a year's absence before the irrevocable knot 
was formed. The truest picture of the misery 
unhallowed liaisons produce," said Byron, " is in 
the 'Adolphe' of Benjamin Constant. I told 
Madame de Stael that there was more morale in 
that book than in all she ever wrote ; and that it 
ought always to be given to every young woman 
who had read ' Corinne,' as an antidote. Poor de 
Stael! she came down upon me like an aval- 
anche, whenever I told her any of my amiable 
truths, sweeping every thing before her, with that 
eloquence that always overwhelmed, but never 
convinced. She however, good soul, believed 
she had convinced, whenever she silenced an op- 
ponent ; an effect she generally produced, as she, 
to use an Irish phrase, succeeded in bothering, 
and producing a confusion of ideas that left one 
little able or willing to continue an argument with 
he. " I liked her daughter very much," said By- 
ron : " I wonder will she turn out literary ? — at 
all events, though she may not write, she posses- 
ses the power of judging the writings of others ; 
is highly educated and clever; but I thought a 
little given to systems, which is not in general 
the fault of young women, and, above all, young 
French women." 

One day that Byron dined with us, his chas- 



160 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

seur, while we were at table, demanded to speak 
with him ; he left the room, and returned in 
a few minutes in a state of violent agitation, 
pale with anger, and looking as I had never be- 
fore seen him look, though I had often seen him 
angry. He told us that his servant had come to 
tell him that he must pass the gate of Genoa 
(his house being outside the town) before half- 
past ten o'clock, as orders were given that no one 
was to be allowed to pass after. This order, 
which had no personal reference to him, he con- 
ceived to be expressly levelled at him, and it 
rendered him furious ; he seized a pen, and com- 
menced a letter to our minister, — tore two or 
three letters one after the other, before he had 
written one to his satisfaction ; and, in short, 
betrayed such ungovernable rage, as to astonish 
all who were present ; he seemed very much dis- 
posed to enter into a personal contest with the 
authorities; and we had some difficulty in per- 
suading him to leave the business wholly in the 
hands of Mr. Hill, the English minister, who 
would arrange it much better. 

Byron's appearance and conduct, on this occa- 
sion, forcibly reminded me of the description 
given of Rousseau ; he declared himself the vic- 
tim of persecution wherever he went ; said that 
there was a confederacy between all governments 



WITH LOED BYRON. 161 

to pursue and molest him, and uttered a thousand 
extravagances, which proved that he was no 
longer master of himself. I now understood how 
likely his manner was, under any violent excite- 
ment, to give rise to the idea that he was deranged 
in his intellects, and became convinced of the 
truth of the sentiment in the lines- — 

Great wit to madness sure is near allied, 
And thin partitions do their bounds divide. 

The next day, when we met, Byron said that 
he had received a satisfactory explanation from 
Mr. -Hill, and then asked me if I had not thought 
him mad the night before : " I assure you," said 
he, " I often think myself not in my right senses, 
and this is perhaps the only opinion I have in 
common with Lady Byron, who, dear sensible 
soul, not only thought me mad, but tried to per- 
suade others into the same belief." 

Talking one day on the difference between men's 
actions and thoughts, a subject to which he often 
referred, he observed, that it frequently happened 
that a man who was capable of superior powers 
of reflection and reasoning when alone, was tri- 
fling and common-place in society. " On this 
point," said he, " I speak feelingly, for I have 
remarked it of myself, and have often longed to 
know if other people had the same defect, or the 
11 



162 JOUKNAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 

same consciousness of it, which is, that while in 
solitude my mind was occupied in serious and 
elevated reflections, in society it sinks into a tri- 
fling levity of tone, that in another would have 
called forth my disapprobation and disgust. An- 
other defect of mine is, that I am so little fasti- 
dious in the selection, or rather want of selection, 
of associates, that the most stupid men satisfy me 
quite as well, nay, perhaps better than the most 
brilliant ; and yet all the time they are with me I 
feel, even while descending to their level, that 
they are unworthy of me, and what is worse, that 
we seem in point of conversation so nearly on an 
equality, that the effort of letting myself down to 
them costs me nothing, though my pride is hurt 
that they do not seem more sensible of the con- 
descension. When I have sought what is called 
good society, it was more from a sense of pro- 
priety and keeping my station in the world, than 
from any pleasure it gave me, for I have been 
always disappointed, even in the most brilliant 
and clever of my acquaintances, by discovering 
some trait of egotism, or futility, that I was too 
egotistical and futile to pardon, as I find that we 
are least disposed to overlook the defects we are 
most prone to. Do you think as I do on this 
point?" said Byron. I answered, "That as a 
clear and spotless mirror reflects the brightest im- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 163 

ages, so is goodness ever most prone to see good in 
others ; and as a sullied mirror shows its own de- 
fects in all that it reflects, so does an impure mind 
tinge all that passes through it." Byron laugh- 
ingly said, " That thought of yours is pretty, and 
just, which all pretty thoughts are not, and I shall 
pop it into my next poem. But how do you ac- 
count for this tendency of mine to trifling and levity 
m conversation, when in solitude my mind is really 
occupied in serious reflections?" I answered, 
" That this was the very cause — the bow cannot 
remain always bent; the thoughts suggested to 
him in society were the reaction of a mind 
strained to its bent, and reposing itself after ex- 
ertion ; as also that, feeling the inferiority of the 
persons he mixed with, the great powers were not 
excited, but lay dormant and supine, collecting 
their force for solitude." This opinion pleased 
him, and when I added that great writers were 
rarely good talkers, and vice versa, he was still 
more gratified. He said that he disliked every- 
day topics of conversation ; he thought it a waste 
of time ; but that if he met a person with whom 
he could, as he said, think aloud, and give utter- 
ance to his thoughts on abstract subjects, he was 
sure it would excite the energies of his mind, and 
awaken sleeping thoughts that wanted to be stir- 
red up. " I like to go home with a new idea," 



164 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

said Byron ; " it sets my mind to work ; I enlarge 
it, and it often gives birth to many others ; this 
one can only do in a Ute-d-tete. I felt the advan- 
tage of this in my rides with Hoppner at Venice ; 
he was a good listener, and his remarks were 
acute and original ; he is besides a thoroughly 
good man, and I knew he was in earnest when he 
gave me his opinions. But conversation, such as 
one finds in society, and above all, in English 
society, is as uninteresting as it is artificial, and 
few can leave the best with the consolation of 
carrying away with him a new thought, or of 
leaving behind him an old friend." Here he 
laughed at his own antithesis, and added, " By 
Jove, it is true ; you know how people abuse or 
quiz each other in England, the moment one is 
absent; each is afraid to go away before the 
other, knowing that, as is said in the ' School for 
Scandal,' he leaves his character behind. It is 
this certainty that excuses me to myself, for abus- 
ing my friends and acquaintances in their ab- 
sence. I was once accused of this by an ami 
intime, to whom some devilish good-natured per- 
son had repeated what I had said of him ; I had 
nothing for it but to plead guilty, adding, ' you 
know you have done the same by me fifty times, 
and yet you see I never was affronted, or liked 
you the less for it ; ' on which he laughed, and we 



WITH LORD BYRON. 165 

were as good friends as ever. Mind you (a fa- 
vorite phrase of Byron's) I never heard that he 
had abused me, but I took it for granted, and was 
right. So much for friends." 

I remarked to Byron that his skepticism as to 
the sincerity and durability of friendship argued 
very much against his capability of feeling the 
sentiment, especially as he admitted that he had 
not been deceived by the few he had confided in, 
consequently his opinion must be founded on self- 
knowledge. This amused him, and he said that 
he verily believed that his knowledge of human 
nature, on which he had hitherto prided himself, 
was the criterion by which I judged so unfavorably 
of him, as he was sure I attributed his bad opin- 
ion of mankind to his perfect knowledge of self 
When in good spirits, he liked badinage very 
much, and nothing seemed to please him more 
than being considered as a mauvais sujet; he 
disclaimed the being so with an air that showed 
he was far from being offended at the suspicion. 
Of love he had strange notions ; he said that 
most people had le besoin d? aimer, and that with 
this besoin the first person who fell in one's way 
contented one. He maintained that those who 
possessed the most imagination, poets for ex- 
ample, were most likely to be constant in their 
attachments, as with the beau ideal in their heads, 



166 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

with which they identified the object of their 
attachment, they had nothing to desire, and 
viewed their mistresses through the brilliant me- 
dium of fancy, instead of the common one of 
the eyes. " A poet, therefore," said Byron, " en- 
dows the person he loves with all the charms with 
which his mind is stored, and has no need of 
actual beauty to fill up the picture. Hence he 
should select a woman who is rather good-looking 
than beautiful, leaving the latter for those who, 
having no imagination, require actual beauty to 
satisfy their tastes. And after all," said he, 
" where is the actual beauty that can come up to 
the bright ' imaginings ' of the poet ? where can 
one see women that equal the visions, half-mortal, 
half-angelic, that people his fancy ? Love, who is 
painted blind (an allegory that proves the use- 
lessness of beauty,) can supply all deficiencies 
with his aid ; we can invest her whom we admire 
with all the attributes of loveliness, and though 
time may steal the roses from her cheek, and the 
lustre from her eye, still the original beau ideal 
remains, filling the mind and intoxicating the soul 
with the overpowering presence of loveliness. I 
flatter myself that my Leila, Zuleika, Gulnare, 
Medora, and Haidee will always vouch for my 
taste in beauty ; these are the bright creations of 
my fancy, with rounded forms, and delicacy of 



WITH LOED BYRON. 167 

limbs, nearly so incompatible as to be rarely, if 
ever, united ; for where, with some rare excep- 
tions, do we see roundness, of contour accompanied 
by lightness, and those fairy hands and feet that 
are at once the type of beauty and refinement. 
I like to shut myself up, close my eyes, and fancy 
one of the creatures of my imagination, with 
taper and rose-tipped fingers, playing with my 
hair, touching my cheek, or resting its little snowy- 
dimpled hand on mine. I like to fancy the fairy 
foot, round and pulpy, but small to diminutive- 
ness, peeping from beneath the drapery that half 
conceals it, or moving in the mazes of the dance. 
I detest thin women ; and unfortunately all, or 
nearly all plump women, have clumsy hands and 
feet, so that I am obliged to have recourse to im- 
agination for my beauties, and there I always 
find them. I can so well understand the lover 
leaving his mistress that he might write to her — I 
should leave mine, not to write to, but to think of 
her, to dress her up in the habiliments of my ideal 
beauty, investing her with all the charms of the 
latter, and then adoring the idol I had formed. 
You must have observed that I give my heroines 
extreme refinement, joined to great simplicity and 
want of education. Now, refinement and want 
of education are incompatible, at least I have ever 
found them so ; so here again, you see, I am 



168 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

forced to have recourse to imagination ; and cer- 
tainly it furnishes me with creatures as unlike the 
sophisticated beings of civilized existence, as they 
are to the still less tempting, coarse realities of 
vulgar life. In short, I am of opinion that poets 
do not require great beauty in the objects of their 
affection ; all that is necessary for them is a strong 
and devoted attachment from the object, and 
where this exists, joined to health and good tem- 
per, little more is required, at least in early youth, 
though with advancing years men become more 
exigeants" Talking of the difference between 
love in early youth and in maturity, Byron said, 
" that, like the measles, love was most dangerous 
when it came late in life." 

Byron had two points of ambition — the one to 
be thought the greatest poet of his day, and the 
other a nobleman and man of fashion, who could 
have arrived at distinction without the aid of his 
poetical genius. This often produced curious 
anomalies in his conduct and sentiments, and a 
sort of jealousy of himself in each separate char- 
acter, that was highly amusing to an observant 
spectator. If poets were talked of or eulogized, 
he referred to the advantages of rank and station, 
as commanding that place in society by right, 
which was only accorded to genius by sufferance ; 
for, said Byron, " Let authors do, say, or think 



WITH LORD BYRON. 169 

what they please, they are never considered as 
men of fashion in the circles of haut ton, to which 
their literary reputations have given them an en- 
tree, unless they happen to be of high birth. How 
many times have I observed this in London ; as 
also the awkward efforts made by authors to trifle 
and act the fine gentleman like the rest of the 
herd in society. Then look at the faiblesse they 
betray in running after great people. Lords and 
ladies seem to possess, in their eyes, some power 
of attraction that I never could discover ; and the 
eagerness with which they crowd to balls and as- 
semblies, where they are as deplaces as emiuyes, 
all conversation at such places being out of the 
question, might lead one to think that they sought 
the heated atmospheres of such scenes as hot- 
beds to nurse their genius." If men of fashion 
were praised, Byron dwelt on the futility of their 
pursuits, their ignorance en masse, and the neces- 
sity of talents to give lustre to rank and station. 
In short, he seemed to think that the bays of the 
author ought to be entwined with a coronet to 
render either valuable, as, singly, they were not 
sufficiently attractive ; and this evidently arose 
from his uniting, in his own person, rank and ge- 
nius. I recollect once laughingly telling him that 
he was fortunate in being able to consider himself 
a poet amongst lords, and a lord amongst poets. 



170 JOUENAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 

He seemed doubful as to how he should take the 
parody, but ended by laughing also. 

Byron has often laughed at some repartie or 
joke against himself, and after a few minutes' 
reflection, got angry at it ; but was always soon 
appeased by a civil apology ; though it was clear 
that he disliked any thing like ridicule, as do 
most people who are addicted to play it ofT on 
others ; and he certainly delighted in quizzing and 
ridiculing his associates. The translation of his 
works into different languages, however it might 
have flattered his amour propre as an author, 
never failed to enrage him from the injustice he 
considered all translations rendered to his works. 

I have seen him furious at some passages in the 
French translation, which he pointed out as proof 
of the impossibility of the translators understand- 
ing the original, and he exclaimed, " II traditore ! 

II traditore ! " (instead of II traduttore !) vowing 
vengeance against the unhappy traducers as he 
called them. He declared that every translation 
he had seen of his poems had so destroyed the 
sense, that he could not understand how the 
French and Italians could admire his works, as 
they professed to do. It proved, he said, at how 
low an ebb modern poetry must be in both coun- 
tries. French poetry he detested, and continually 
ridiculed ; he said it was discordant to his ears. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 171 

Of his own works, with some exceptions, he 
always spoke in derision, saying he could write 
much better, but that he wrote to suit the false 
taste of the day; and that if now and then a 
gleam of true feeling or poetry was visible in his 
productions, it was . sure to be followed by the 
ridicule he could not suppress. Byron was not 
sincere in this, and it was only said to excite sur- 
prise, and show his superiority over the rest of 
the world. It was this same desire of astonishing 
people that led him to depreciate Shakspeare, 
which I have frequently heard him do, though 
from various reflections of his in conversation, and 
the general turn of his mind, I am convinced that 
he had not only deeply read, but deeply felt the 
beauties of our immortal poet. 

I do not recollect ever having met Byron that 
he did not in some way or other, introduce the 
subject of Lady Byron. The impression left on 
my mind was, that she continually occupied his 
thoughts, and that he most anxiously desired a 
reconciliation with her. He declared that his 
marriage was free from every interested motive ; 
and if not founded on love, as love is generally 
viewed, a wild, engrossing, and ungovernable 
passion, there was quite sufficient liking in it to 
have insured happiness had his temper been 
better. He said that Lady Byron's appearance 



172 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

had pleased him from the first moment, and had 
always continued to please him ; and that, had 
his pecuniary affairs been in a less ruinous state, 
his temper would not have been excited, as it 
daily, hourly was, during the brief period of their 
union, by the insolent creditors whom he was 
unable to satisfy and who drove him nearly out 
of his senses, until he lost all command of him- 
self, and so forfeited Lady Byron's affection. " I 
must admit," said he, " that I could not have left 
a very agreeable impression on her mind. With 
my irascible temper, worked upon by the con- 
stant attacks of duns, no wonder that I became 
gloomy, violent, and I fear, often personally un- 
"j civil, if no worse, and so disgusted her ; though 
had she really loved me, she would have borne 
with my infirmities, and made allowance for my 
provocations. I have written to her repeatedly, 
and am still in the habit of writing long letters to 
her, many of which I have sent, but without ever 
receiving an answer, and others that I did not 
send, because I despaired of their doing any 
good. I will show you some of them, as they 
may serve to throw a light on my feelings." The 
next day Byron sent me the letter addressed to 
Lady Byron, which has already appeared in 
" Moore's Life." He never could divest himself 
of the idea that she took a deep interest in him ; 



WITH LORD BYRON. 173 

he said that their child must always be a bond 
of union between them, whatever lapse of years 
or distance might separate them ; and this idea 
seemed to comfort him. And yet, notwithstand- 
ing the bond of union a child was supposed to 
form between the parents, he did not hesitate to 
state, to the gentlemen of our party, his more 
than indifference towards the mother of his illegit- 
imate daughter. Byron's mental courage was 
much stronger in his study than in society. In 
moments of inspiration, with his pen in his hand, 
he would have dared public opinion, and laughed 
to scorn the criticisms of all the literati, but with 
reflection came doubts and misgivings ; and 
though in general he was tenacious in not chang- 
ing what he had once written, this tenacity pro- 
ceeded more from the fear of being thought to 
want mental courage, than from the existence of 
the quality itself. This operated also on his 
actions as well as his writings ; he was the crea- 
ture of impulse ; never reflected on the possible 
or probable results of his conduct, until that con- 
duct had drawn down censure and calumny on 
him, when he shrunk with dismay, " frightened 
at the sounds himself had made." 

This sensitiveness was visible on all occasions, 
and extended to all his relations with others ; did 
his friends or associates become the objects of 



174 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

public attack, he shrunk from the association, or 
at least from any public display of it, disclaimed 
the existence of any particular intimacy, though 
in secret he felt good-will to the persons. I have 
witnessed many examples of this, and became 
convinced that his friendship was much more 
likely to be retained by those who stood well in 
the world's opinion, than by those who had even 
undeservedly forfeited it. I once made an obser- 
vation to him on this point, which was elicited 
by something he had said of persons with whom 
I knew he had once been on terms of intimacy, 
and which he wished to disclaim : his reply was, 
" what the deuce good can I do them against 
public opinion ? I shall only injure myself, and 
do them no service." I ventured to tell him, that 
this was precisely the system of the English 
whom he decried ; and that self-respect, if no 
better feeling operated, ought to make us support 
in adversity those whom we had led to believe we 
felt interested in. He blushed, and allowed I was 
right ; " though," added he, " you are singular in 
both senses of the word, in your opinion, as I 
have had proofs ; for at the moment when I was 
assailed by all the vituperation of the press in 
England at the separation, a friend of mine, who 
had written a complimentary passage to me, 
either by way of dedication or episode (I forget 



WITH LORD BYE ON. 175 

which he said,) suppressed it on finding public 
opinion running hard against me ; he will prob- 
ably produce it if he finds the quicksilver of the 
barometer of my reputation mounts to beau fixe ; 
while it remains, as at present, at variable, it will 
never see the light, save and except I die in 
Greece, with a sort of de mi-poetic and de mi- 
heroic renommee attached to my memory." 

Whenever Byron found himself in a difficulty 
— and the occasions were frequent — he had re- 
course to the example of others, which induced 
me to tell him that few people had so much pro- 
fited by friends as he had ; they always served 
" to point a moral and adorn a tale," being his 
illustrations for all the errors to which human 
nature is heir, and his apologetic examples when- 
ever he wished to find an excuse for unpoetical 
acts of worldly wisdom. Byron rather encouraged 
than discouraged such observations ; he said they 
had novelty to recommend them, and has even 
wilfully provoked their recurrence. Whenever I 
gave him my opinions, and still oftener when one 
of the party, whose sentiments partook of all the 
chivalric honor, delicacy, and generosity of the 
beau ideal of the poetic character, expressed his, 
Byron used to say, " Now for a Utopian system 
of the good and beautiful united ; Lord B. ought 
to have lived in the heroic ages, and if all man- 



176 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

kind would agree to act as he feels and acts, I 
agree with you we should all be certainly better, 
and, I do believe, happier than at present ; but it 
would surely be absurd for a few — and to how 
few would it be limited — to set themselves up 
' doing as they would be done by,' against a 
million who invariably act vice versd. No, if 
goodness is to become d-la-mode — and I sin- 
cercely wish it were possible — we must have a 
fair start, and all begin at the same time, other- 
wise it will be like exposing a few naked and 
unarmed men against a multitude in armor." 
Byron was never de bonne foi in giving such 
opinions ; indeed, the whole of his manner be- 
trayed this, as it was playful and full of plaisan- 
terie, but still he wanted the accompaniment of 
habitual acts of disinterested generosity to con- 
vince one that his practice was better than his 
theory. He was one of the many whose lives 
prove how much more effect example has than 
precept. All the elements of good were com- 
bined in his nature, but they lay dormant for 
want of emulation to excite their activity. He 
was the slave of his passions, and he submitted 
not without violent, though, alas ! unsuccessful, 
struggles to the chains they imposed; but each 
day brought him nearer to that age when reason 
triumphs over passion — when, had life been 



WITH LORD BYRON. 177 

spared him, he would have subjugated those un- 
worthy tyrants, and asserted his empire over that 
most rebellious of all dominions — self. 

Byron never wished to live to be old ; on the 
contrary, I have frequently heard him express the 
hope of dying young ; and I remember his quot- 
ing Sir William Temple's opinion — that life is 
like wine ; who would drink it pure must not 
draw it to the dregs — as being his way of think- 
ing also. He said, it was a mistaken idea that 
passions subsided with age, as they only changed, 
and not for the better, Avarice usurping the place 
vacated by Love, and Suspicion filling up that 
of Confidence. " And this," continued Byron, 
" is what age and experience brings us. No, let 
me not live to be old ; give me youth, which is 
the fever of reason, and not age, which is the 
palsy. I remember my youth, when my heart 
overflowed with affection towards all who showed 
any symptom of liking towards me ; and now, at 
thirty-six, no very advanced period of life, I can 
scarcely, by raking up the dying embers of affec- 
tion in that same heart, excite even a temporary 
flame to warm my chilled feelings." Byron 
mourned over the lost feelings of his youth as 
we regret the lost friends of the same happy 
period ; there was something melancholy in the 
sentiment, and the more so, as one saw that it 

12 



178 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

was sincere. He often talked of death, and never 
with dread. He said that its certainty furnished 
a better lesson than all the philosophy of the 
schools, as it enabled us to bear the ills of life, 
which would be unbearable were life of unlimited 
duration. He quoted Cowley's lines — 

Life ! thou weak-built isthmus, which doth proudly rise 
Up betwixt two eternities ! 

as an admirable description, and said they often 
recurred to his memory. He never mentioned 
the friends of whom Death had deprived him 
without visible emotion ; he loved to dwell on 
their merits, and talked of them with a tender- 
ness as if their deaths had been recent, instead 
of years ago. Talking of some of them, and 
deploring their loss, he observed, with a bitter 
smile : "But perhaps it is as well that they are 
gone ; it is less bitter to mourn their deaths than 
to have to regret their alienation ; and who knows 
but that, had they lived, they might have become 
as faithless as some others that I have known. 
Experience has taught me, that the only friends 
that we can call our own — that can know no 
change — are those over whom the grave has 
closed ; the seal of death is the only seal of 
friendship. No wonder, then, that we cherish 
the memory of those who loved us, and comfort 



WITH LORD BYRON. 179 

ourselves with the thought that they were un- 
changed to the last. The regret we feel at such 
afflictions has something in it that softens our 
hearts, and renders us better. We feel more 
kindly disposed to our fellow-creatures, because 
we are satisfied with ourselves — first, for being 
able to excite affection, and secondly, for the 
gratitude with which we repay it — to the mem- 
ory of those we have lost ; but the regret we 
prove at the alienation or unkindness of those 
we trusted and loved, is so mingled with bitter 
feelings, that they sear the heart, dry up the foun- 
tain of kindness in our breasts, and disgust us 
with human nature, by wounding our self-love 
in its most vulnerable part — the showing that we 
have failed to excite affection where we had lav- 
ished ours. One may learn to bear this uncom- 
plainingly, and with outward calm ; but the im- 
pression is indelible, and he must be made of 
different materials to the generality of men, who 
does not become a cynic, if he become nothing 
worse, after once suffering such a disappoint- 
ment." 

I remarked that his early friends had not given 
him cause to speak feelingly on this subject, and 
named Mr, Hobhouse as a proof; he answered, 
" Yes, certainly, he has remained unchanged, and 
I believe is unchangeable ; and, if friendship, as 






180 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

most people imagine, consists in telling one truth 
— unvarnished, unadorned truth — he is indeed a 
friend ; yet, hang it, I must be candid, and say I 
have had many other, and more agreeable, proofs 
of Hobhouse's friendship than the truths he always 
told me ; but the fact is, I wanted him to sugar 
them over a little with flattery, as nurses do the 
physic given to children ; and he never would, 
and therefore I have never felt quite content with 
him, though au fond, I respect him the more for 
his candor, while I respect myself very much less 
for my weakness in disliking it. 

" William Bankes is another of my early 
friends. He is very clever, very original, and 
has a fund of information ; he is also very good- 
natured, but he is not much of a flatterer. How 
unjust it is to accuse you, ladies, of loving flat- 
tery so much ; I am quite sure that we men are 
quite as much addicted to it, but have not 
the amiable candor to show it, as you all do. 
Adulation is never disagreeable when addressed 
to ourselves ; though let us hear only half the 
same degree of it addressed to another, and we 
vote the addresser a parasite, and the addressed a 
fool for swallowing it. But even though we may 
doubt the sincerity or the judgment of the adu- 
lator, the incense is nevertheless acceptable, as it 
proves we must be of some importance, to induce 



WITH LORD BYRON. 181 

him to take the trouble of flattering us. There 
are two things that we are all willing to take, and 
never think we can have too much of (continued 
Byron) — money and flattery ; and the more we 
have of the first, the more we are likely to get of 
the second, as far as I have observed, at all events 
in England, where I have seen wealth excite an 
attention and respect that virtue, genius, or valor 
would fail to meet with. 

" I have frequently remarked (said Byron) that 
in no country have I seen preeminence so univer- 
sally followed by envy, jealousy, and all unchari- 
tableness, as in England ; those who are deterred 
by shame from openly attacking, endeavor to de- 
preciate it, by holding up mediocrity to admira- 
tion ; on the same principle that women, when 
they hear the beauty of another justly extolled, 
either deny, or assent with faint praise, to her 
claims, and lavish on some merely passable 
woman the highest encomiums, to prove they 
are not envious. The English treat their cel- 
ebrated men as they do their climate, abuse 
them amongst themselves, and defend them, out 
of amour propre, if attacked by strangers. Did 
you ever know of a person of powerful abilities 
really liked in England? Are not the persons 
most popular in society precisely those who have 
no qualities to excite envy ? Amiable, good- 



182 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

natured people, but negative characters ; their 
very goodness (if mere good-nature can be called 
goodness) being caused by the want of any pos- 
itive excellence, as white is produced by the ab- 
sence of color. People feel themselves equal, 
and generally think themselves superior to such 
persons ; hence, as they cannot wound vanity, 
they become popular ; all agree to praise them, 
because each individual, while praising, adminis- 
ters to his own self-complacency, from his belief 
of superiority to him whom he praises. Notwith- 
standing their faults, the English, (said Byron,) 
that is to say, the well bred and well educated 
among them, are better calculated for the com- 
merce of society than the individuals of other 
countries, from the simple circumstance that they 
listen. This makes one cautious of what one 
says, and prevents the hazarding the mille petits 
Hens that escape when one takes courage from 
the noise of all talking together, as in other 
places ; and this is a great point gained. In 
what country but England could the epigram- 
matic repartees and spiritual anecdotes of a Jekyll 
have nourished ? Place him at a French or Ita- 
lian table, supposing him au fait of the lan- 
guages, and this, our English Attic bee, could 
neither display his honey nor his sting ; both 
would be useless in the hive of drones around 



WITH LORD BYRON. 183 

him. St. Evremond, I think it is, who says that 
there is no better company than an Englishman 
who talks, and a Frenchman who thinks ; but 
give me the man who listens, unless he can talk 
like a Jekyll, from the overflowing of a full mind, 
and not, as most of one's acquaintances do, make 
a noise like drums, . from their emptiness. An 
animated conversation has much the same effect 
on me as champagne- — it elevates and makes me 
giddy, and I say a thousand foolish things while 
under its intoxicating influence; it takes a long 
time to sober me after; and I sink, under reac- 
tion, into a state of depression — half cross, half 
hippish, and out of humor with myself and the 
world. I find an interesting book the only seda- 
tive to restore me to my wonted calm; for, left 
alone to my own reflections, I feel so ashamed 
of myself — vis-d-vis to myself — for my levity and 
over excitement, that all the follies I have uttered 
rise up in judgment against me, and I am as 
sheepish as a school -boy, after his first degrading 
abandonment to intemperance." 

" Did you know Curran ? (asked Byron) — he 
was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In 
him was combined an imagination the most bril- 
liant and profound, with a flexibility and wit that 
would have justified the observation applied to 
, that his heart was in his head. I remem- 



184 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

ber his once repeating some stanzas to me, four 
lines of which struck me so much, that I made 
him repeat them twice, and I wrote them down 
before I went to bed : — 

While Memory with more than Egypt's art 
Embalming all the sorrows of the heart, 
Sits at the altar which she raised to woe, 
And feeds the source whence tears eternal flow ! 

I have caught myself repeating these lines fifty 
times ; and, strange to say, they suggested an 
image on memory to me, with which they have 
no sort of resemblance in any way, and yet the 
idea came while repeating them ; so unaccount- 
able and incomprehensible is the power of asso- 
ciation. My thought was — Memory, the mirror 
which affliction dashes to the earth, and, looking 
down upon the fragments, only beholds the re- 
flection multiplied." He seemed pleased at my 
admiring his idea.* I told him that his thoughts, 
in comparison with those of others, were eagles 
brought into competition with sparrows. As an 
example, I gave him my definition of memory, 
which, I said, resembled a telescope bringing dis- 
tant objects near to us. He said the simile was 

# E'en as a broken mirror which the glass 
In every fragment multiplies, and makes 
A thousand images of one that was, &c. 

Childe Harold, Canto iii. St. 33. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 185 

good ; but I added it was mechanical, instead of 
poetical, which constituted the difference between 
excellence and mediocrity, as between the eagle 
and sparrow. This amused him, though his po- 
liteness refused to admit the verity of the com- 
parison. 

Talking of tact, Byron observed that it ought to 
be added to the catalogue of the cardinal virtues, 
and that our happiness frequently depended more 
on it than all the accredited ones. "A man (said 
he) may have prudence, temperance, justice, and 
fortitude ; yet, wanting tact, may, and must, ren- 
der those around him uncomfortable (the English 
synonyme for unhappy ;) and, by the never-failing 
retributive justice of Nemesis, be unhappy him- 
self, as all are who make others so. I consider 
tact the real panacea of life, and have observed 
that those who most eminently possessed it were 
remarkable for feeling and sentiment ; while, oh 
the contrary, the persons most deficient in it were 
obtuse, frivolous, or insensible. To possess tact 
it is necessary to have a fine perception, and to 
be sensitive ; for how can we know what will 
pain another, without having some criterion in 
our own feelings by which we can judge of his ? 
Hence, I maintain that our tact is always in pro- 
portion to our sensibility." 

Talking of love and friendship, Byron said, 



186 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

that " friendship may, and often does, grow into 
love, but love never subsides into friendship.' 5 
I maintained the contrary, and instanced the 
affectionate friendship which replaces the love 
of married people ; a sentiment as tender, though 
less passionate, and more durable than the first. 
He said, " You should say more enduring ; for, 
depend on it, that the good-natured passiveness, 
with which people submit to the conjugal yoke, 
is much more founded on the philosophical prin- 
ciple of what can't be cured must be endured, 
than the tender friendship you give them credit 
for. Who that has felt the all-engrossing passion 
of love (continued he) could support the stagnant 
calm you refer to for the same object ? No, the 
humiliation of discovering the frailty of our own 
nature, which is in no instance more proved than 
by the short duration of violent love, has some- 
thing so painful in it, that, with our usual selfish- 
ness, we feel, if not a repugnance, at least an 
indifference to the object that once charmed, but 
can no longer charm us, and whose presence 
brings mortifying recollections ; nay, such is our 
injustice, that we transfer the blame of the weak- 
ness of our own natures to the person who had 
not power to retain our love, and discover blem- 
ishes in her to excuse our inconstancy. As in- 
difference begets indifference, vanity is wound- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 187 

ed at both sides ; and though good sense may 
induce people to support and conceal their feel- 
ings, how can an affectionate friendship spring- 
up like a phoenix, from the ashes of extinguished 
passion ? I am afraid that the friendship, in such 
a case, would be as fabulous as the phoenix, for 
the recollection of burnt-out love would remain 
too mortifying a memento to admit the successor, 
friendship." I told Byron that this was mere 
sophistry, and could not be his real sentiments ; 
as also that, a few days before, he admitted that 
passion subsided into a better, or at least a more 
durable feeling. I added, that persons who had 
felt the engrossing love he described, which was 
a tempestuous and selfish passion, were glad to 
sink into the refreshing calm of milder feelings, 
and looked back with complacency on the storms 
they had been exposed to, and with increased 
sympathy to the person who had shared them. 
The community of interest, of sorrows, and of 
joys added new links to the chain of affection, 
and habit, which might wear away the gloss of 
the selfish passion he alluded to, gave force to 
friendship, by rendering the persons every day 
more necessary I to each other. I added, that 
dreadful would be the fate of persons, if, after 
a few months of violent passion, they were to 
pass their lives in indifference, merely because 



188 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

their new feelings were less engrossing and ex- 
citing than the old. " Then (said Byron,) if you 
admit that the violent love does, or must, subside 
in a few months, and, as in coursing, that we are 
mad for a minute to be melancholy for an hour, 
would it not be wiser to choose the friend, I 
mean the person most calculated for friend- 
ship, with whom the long years are to be spent, 
than the idol who is to be worshipped for some 
months, and then hurled from the altar we had 
raised to her, and left defaced and disfigured by 
the smoke of the incense she had received ? I 
maintained that as the idols are chosen nearly 
always for their personal charms, they are seldom 
calculated for friendship ; hence the disappoint- 
ment that ensues, when the violence of passion 
has abated, and the discovery is made that there 
are no solid qualities to replace the passion that 
has passed away with the novelty that excited it. 
When a man chooses a friend in a woman, he 
looks to her powers of conversation, her mental 
qualities, and agreeability ; and as these win his 
regard the more they are known, love often takes 
the place of friendship, and certainly the founda- 
tion on which he builds is more likely to be last- 
ing ; and, in this case, I admit that affection, or, 
as you more prettily call it, tender friendship, 
may last for ever." I replied that I believe the 



WITH LORD BYRON. 189 

only difference in our opinions is, that I denied 
that friendship could not succeed love, and that 
nothing could change my opinion. " I suppose 
(said Byron) that a woman, like 

A man, convinced against his will, 
Is of the same opinion still — 

so that all my fine commentaries on my text 
have been useless ; at all events, I hope you give 
me credit for being ingenious, as well as ingen- 
uous in my defence. Clever men (said Byron) 
commit a great mistake in selecting wives who 
are destitute of abilities ; I allow that une femme 
savante is apt to be a bore, and it is to avoid this 
that people run into the opposite extreme, and 
condemn themselves to pass their lives with 
women who are incapable of understanding or 
appreciating them. Men have an idea that a 
clever woman must be disputative and dictato- 
rial, not considering that it is only pretenders 
who are either, and that this applies as much to 
one sex as the other. Now, my beau ideal would 
be a woman with talent enough to be able to 
understand and value mine, but not sufficient 
to be able to shine herself. All men with pre- 
tensions desire this, though few, if any, have 
courage to avow it ; I believe the truth is, that a 
man must be very conscious of superior abilities 
to endure the thought of having a rival near the 



190 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

throne, though that rival was his wife ; and as it 
is said that no man is a hero to his valet-de- 
chambre, it may be concluded that few men can 
retain their position on the pedestal of genius vis- 
a-vis to one who has been behind the curtain, 
unless that one is unskilled in the art of judging, 
and consequently admires the more because she 
does not understand. Genius, like greatness, 
should be seen at a distance, for neither will bear 
a too close inspection. Imagine the hero of a 
hundred fights in his cotton night-cap, subject to 
all the infirmities of human nature, and there is 
an end of his sublimity ; and see a poet whose 
works have raised our thoughts above this sphere 
of common every-day existence, and who, Pro- 
metheus-like, has stolen fire from heaven to ani- 
mate the children of clay — see him in the throes 
of poetic labor, blotting, tearing, rewriting the 
lines that we suppose him to have poured forth 
with Homeric inspiration, and, in the intervals, 
eating, drinking, and sleeping, like the most or- 
dinary mortal, and he soon sinks to a level with 
them in our estimation. I am sure (said Byron) 
we can never justly appreciate the works of those 
with whom we have lived on familiar terms. I 
have felt this myself, and it applies to poets more 
than all other writers. They should live in soli- 
tude, rendering their presence more desired by its 



WITH LOED BYRON. 191 

rarity; never submit to the gratification of the 
animal appetite of eating in company, and be as 
distinct in their general habits, as in their genius, 
from the common herd of mankind." He laughed 
heartily when he had finished this speech, and 
added, u I have had serious thoughts of drawing 
up a little code of instructions for my brethren of 
the craft. I don't think my friend Moore would 
adopt it, and he, perhaps, is the only exception 
who would be privileged to adhere to his present 
regime, as he can certainly pass the ordeal of 
dinners without losing any of his poetical reputa- 
tion, since the brilliant things that come from his 
lips reconcile one to the solid things that go into 
them." 

" We have had ' Pleasures of Hope,' ' Plea- 
sures of Memory,' ' Pleasures of Imagination,' 
and < Pleasures of Love.' I wonder that no one 
has thought of writing ' Pleasures of Fear ' (said 
Byron). It surely is a poetical subject, and 
much might be made of it in good hands." I 
answered, "Why do you not undertake it?" He 
replied, " Why, I have endeavored through life 
to make believe that I am unacquainted with 
the passion, so I must not now show an intimacy 
with it, lest I be accused of cowardice, which 
is, I believe, the only charge that has not yet 
been brought against me." But, joking apart, 



192 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

it would be a fine subject, and has more of the 
true sublime than any of the other passions. I 
have always found more difficulty in hitting on a 
subject than in filling it up, and so I dare say do 
most people ; and I have remarked that I never 
could make much of a subject suggested to me 
by another. I have sometimes dreamt of sub- 
jects and incidents (continued he), nay nearly 
filled up an outline of a tale while under the 
influence of sleep, but have found it too wild to 
work up into any thing. Dreams are strange 
things, and here, again, is one of the incompre- 
hensibilities of nature. I could tell you extraor- 
dinary things of dreams, and as true as extraor- 
dinary, but you would laugh at my superstition. 
Mine are always troubled and disagreeable ; and 
one of the most fearful thoughts that ever crossed 
my mind during moments of gloomy skepticism, 
has been the possibility that the last sleep may not 
be dreamless. Fancy an endless dream of horror 
— it is too dreadful to think of — this thought 
alone would lead the veriest clod of animated clay 
that ever existed to aspirations after immortality. 
The difference between a religious and irreligious 
man (said Byron) is, that the one sacrifices the 
present to the future ; and the other, the future to 
the present." I observed, that grovelling must 
be the mind that can content itself with the 



WITH LORD BYRON. 193 

present ; even those who are occupied only with 
their pleasures find the insufficiency of it, and 
must have something to look forward to in the 
morrow of the future, so unsatisfying is to-day 
of the present ! Byron said that he agreed with 
me, and added, " The belief in the immortality 
of the soul is the only true panacea for the ills 
of life." 

" You will like the Italian women (said Byron), 
and I advise you to cultivate their acquaintance. 
They are natural, frank, and good-natured, and 
have none of the affectation, petitesse, jealousy, 
and malice, that characterize our more polished 
countrywomen. This gives a raciness to their 
ideas as well as manners, that to me is peculiarly 
pleasing ; and I feel with an Italian woman as if 
she was a full-grown child, possessing the buoy- 
ancy and playfuluess of infancy with the deep 
feeling of womanhood ; none of that conventional 
manierisme that one meets with from the first 
patrician circles in England, justly styled the 
marble age, so cold and polished, to the second 
and third coteries, where a coarse caricature is 
given of the un penetrated and impenetrable mys- 
teries of the first. Where dulness, supported by 
the many, silences talent and originality, upheld 
by the few. Madame de Stael used to say that 
our great balls and assemblies of hundreds in 

13 



194 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

London, to which all flocked, were admirably 
calculated to reduce all to the same level, and 
were got up with this intention. In the torrid 
zone of suffocating hundreds, mediocrity and ex- 
cellence had equal chances, for neither could be 
remarked or distinguished ; conversation was im- 
practicable, reflection put hors de combat, and 
common sense, by universal accord, sent to 
Coventry ; so that after a season in London one 
doubted one's own identity, and was tempted 
to repeat the lines in the child's book, 'If I be 
not I, who can I be ? ' So completely were one's 
faculties reduced to the conventional standard. 
The Italians know not this artificial state of 
society ; their circles are limited and social ; they 
love or hate, but then they. 'do their hating 
gently ; ' the clever among them are allowed a 
distinguished place ; the less endowed admires, 
instead of depreciating, what he cannot attain ; 
and all and each contribute to the general stock of 
happiness. Misanthropy is unknown in Italy, as 
are many of the other exotic passions, forced into 
flower by the hot-beds of civilization ; and yet in 
moral England you will hear people express their 
horror of the freedom and immorality of the 
Italians, whose errors are but as the weeds that a 
too warm sun brings forth, while ours are the 
stinging-nettles of a soil rendered rank by its too 



WITH LOED BYEON. 195 

great richness. Nature is all-powerful in Italy, 
and who is it that would not prefer the sins of 
her exuberance to the crimes of art ? Lay aside 
ceremony, and meet them with their own warmth 
and frankness, and I answer for it you will leave 
those whom you sought as acquaintances, friends, 
instead of, as in England, scarcely retaining as 
acquaintances those with whom you had started 
in life as friends. Who ever saw in Italy the 
nearest and dearest relations bursting asunder all 
the ties of consanguinity, from some worldly and 
interested motive ? And yet this so frequently 
takes place in England, that, after an absence of 
a year or two, one dare hardly inquire of a sister 
after a sister, or a brother after a brother, as one 
is afraid to be told — not that they are dead — but 
that they have cut each other." 

" I ought to be an excellent comic writer (said 
Byron), if it be true, as some assert, that melan- 
choly people succeed best in comedy, and gay 
people in tragedy ; and Moore would make, by 
that rule, a first-rate tragic writer. I have known, 
among amateur authors, some of the gayest per- 
sons, whose compositions were all of a melan- 
choly turn ; and for myself, some of my nearest 
approaches to comic have been written under a 
deep depression of spirits. This is strange, but 
so is all that appertains to our strange natures ; 



196 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

and the more we analyze the anomalies in our- 
selves or others, the more incomprehensible they 
appear. I believe (continued Byron) the less we 
reflect on them the better, at least I am sure 
those that reflect the least are the happiest. I 
once heard a clever medical man say, that if a 
person were to occupy himself a certain time in 
counting the pulsations of his heart, it would 
have the effect of accelerating its movements, and 
if continued, would produce disease. So it is 
with the mind and nature of man; our exami- 
nations and reflections lead to no definite con- 
clusions, and often engender a morbid state of 
feeling, that increases the anomalies for which we 
sought to account. We know that we live (con- 
tinued Byron,) and to live and to suffer are in my 
opinion synonymous. We know also that we 
shall die, though the how, the when, and the 
where, we are ignorant of; the whole knowledge 
of man can pierce no farther, and centuries re- 
volving on centuries have made us no wiser. I 
think it was Luther who said that the human 
mind was like a drunken man on horseback — 
prop it on one side and it falls on the other ; who 
that has entered into the recesses of his own 
mind, or examined all that is exposed in the 
minds of others, but must have discovered this 
tendency to weakness, which is generally in pro- 



WITH LOED BYRON. . 197 

portion to the strength in some other faculty. 
Great imagination is seldom accompanied by 
equal powers of reason, and vice versa, so that 
we rarely possess superiority in any one point, 
except at the expense of another. It is surely 
then unjust (continued Byron, laughing) to render 
poets responsible for their want of common sense, 
since it is only by the excess of imagination they 
can arrive at being poets, and this excess debars 
reason ; indeed the very circumstance of a man's 
yielding to the vocation of a poet ought to serve 
as a voucher that he is no longer of sound mind." 
Byron always became gay when any subject 
afforded him an opportunity of ridiculing poets ; 
he entered into it con amore, and generally ended 
by some sarcasm on the profession, or on himself. 
He has often said, " We of the craft are all crazy, 
but / more than the rest ; some are affected by 
gayety, others by melancholy, but all are more or 
less touched, though few except myself have the 
candor to avow it, which I do to spare my friends 
the pain of sending it forth to the world. This 
very candor is another proof that I am not of 
sound mind (continued he), for people will be 
sure to say how far gone he must be, when he 
admits it ; on the principle that when a belle or 
beau owns to thirty-five, the world gives them 
credit for at least seven years more, from the 



198 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

belief that if we seldom speak the truth of others, 
we never do of ourselves, at least on subjects of 
personal interest or vanity." 

Talking of an acquaintance, Byron said, — look 

at , and see how he gets on in the world — 

he is as unwilling to do a bad action as he is in- 
capable of doing a good ; fear prevents the first, 
and mechancete the second. The difference be- 
tween and me is, that I abuse many, and 

really, with one or two exceptions, (and mind 
you, they are males,) hate none; and he abuses 
none, and hates many, if not all. Fancy — in the 
Palace of Truth, what good fun it would be, to 
hear him, while he believed himself uttering the 
most honeyed compliments, giving vent to all the 
spite and rancor that has been pent up in his 
mind for years, and then to see the person he has 
been so long flattering hearing his real sentiments 
for the first time ; this would be rare fun ! Now, I 
would appear to great advantage in the Palace 
of Truth," continued Byron, " though you look 
ill-naturedly incredulous ; for while I thought I 
was vexing friends and foes with spiteful 
speeches, I should be saying good-natured things, 
for, au fond, I have no malice, at least none that 
lasts beyond the moment." Never was there a 
more true observation ; Byron's is a fine nature, 
spite of all the weeds that have sprung up in it ; 



t 



WITH LOED BYRON. 199 

and I am convinced that it is the excellence of 
the poet, or rather let me say, the effect of that 
excellence, that has produced the defects of the 
man. In proportion to the admiration one has 
excited, has been the severity of the censure be- 
stowed on the other, and often most unjustly. 
The world has burnt incense before the poet, and 
heaped ashes on the head of the man. This has 
revolted and driven him out of the pale of social 
life, his wounded pride has avenged itself, by 
painting his own portrait in the most sombre 
colors, as if to give a still darker picture than has 
yet been drawn by his foes, while glorying in 
forcing even from his foes an admiration as un- 
bounded for his genius as has been their disap- 
probation for his character. Had his errors met 
with more mercy, he might have been a less 
grand poet, but he would have been a more esti- 
mable man ; the good that is now dormant in his 
nature would have been called forth, and the evil 
would not have been excited. The blast that 
withers the rose destroys not its thorns, which 
often remain, the sole remembrance of the flower 
they grow near; and so it is with some of our 
finest qualities — blighted by unkind ness, we can 
only trace them by the faults their destruction 
has made visible. 

Lord Byron, in talking of his friend, La Comte 



200 JOUENAL OF CONVEBSATIONS 

Pietro Gamba, (the brother of La Contessa 
Guicciola,) whom he had presented to us soon 
after our arrival at Genoa, remarked, that he was 
one of the most amiable, brave, and excellent 
young men he had e^rer encountered, with a 
thirst for knowledge, and a disinterestedness 
rarely to be met with. " He is my grand point 
cPappui for Greece," said he, " as I know he will 
neither deceive nor natter me." We have found 
La Comte Pietro Gamba exactly what Lord 
Byron had described him; sensible, mild, and 
amiable, devotedly attached to Lord B., and 
dreaming of glory and Greece. He is extremely 
good-looking, and Lord Byron told us he resem- 
bled his sister very much, which I dare say in- 
creased his partiality for him not a little. 

Habit has a strong influence over Byron ; he 
likes routine, and detests what he calls being put 
out of his way. He told me that any infringe- 
ment on his habitual way of living, or passing 
his time, annoyed him. Talking of thin women, 
he said that if they were young and pretty, they 
reminded him of dried butterflies ; but if neither, 
of spiders, whose nests would never catch him 
were he a fly, as they had nothing tempting. A 
new book is a treasure to him, provided it is 
really new ; for having read more than perhaps 
any man of his age, he can immediately dis- 



WITH LOED BYEON. 201 

cover a want of originality, and throws by the 
book in disgust at the first wilful plagiary he de- 
tects. 

Talking of Mr. Ward,* Lord Byron said— 
" Ward is one of the best-informed men I know, 
and, in a tete-a-tete, is one of the most agreeable 
companions. He has great originality, and, being 
tres distrait, it adds to the piquancy of his obser- 
vations, which are sometimes somewhat trop 
naivete, though always amusing. This naivete 
of his is the more piquant from his being really 
a good-natured man, who unconsciously thinks 
aloud. Interest Ward on a subject, and I know 
no one who can talk better. His expressions are 
concise without being poor, and terse and epi- 
grammatic without being affected. He can com- 
press (continued Byron) as much into a few 
words as any one I know ; and if he gave more 
of his attentions to his associates, and less to 
himself, he would be one of the few whom one 
could praise, without being compelled to use the 
conjunction but. Ward has bad health, and un- 
fortunately, like all valetudinarians, it occupies 
his attention too much, which will probably bring 
on a worse state," continued Byron, " that of 
confirmed egoism — a malady that, though not to 
be found in the catalogue of ailments to which 

* Now Lord Dudley. 



202 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

man is subject, yet perhaps is more to be dreaded 
than all that are." 

I observed that egoism is in general the malady 
of the aged ; and that, it appears, we become 
occupied with our own existence in proportion as 
it ceases to be interesting to others. 

" Yes," said Byron, " on the same principle as 
we see the plainest people the vainest — nature 
giving them vanity and self-love to supply the 
want of that admiration they never can find in 
others. I can therefore pity and forgive the 
vanity of the ugly and deformed, whose sole con- 
solation it is ; but the handsome, whose good 
looks are mirrored in the eyes of all around them, 
should be content with that, and not indulge in 
such egregious vanity as they give way to in 
general. But to return to Ward," said Byron, 
" and this is not apropos to vanity, for I never 
saw any one who has less. He is not properly 
appreciated in England. The English can better 
understand and enjoy the bon mots of a bon 
vivant, who can at all times set the table in a 
roar, than the neat repliques of Ward, which, ex- 
citing reflection, are more likely to silence the 
rabble-riot of intemperance. They like better the 
person who makes them laugh, though often at 
their own expense, than he who forces them to 
think — an operation which the mental faculties 



WITH LORD BYRON. .. > 203 

of few of them are calculated to perform ; so that 
poor Ward, finding himself undervalued, sinks 
into self, and this, at the long run, is dangerous : — 

For well we know the mind, too finely wrought, 
Preys on itself, and is o'erpower'd by thought. 

" There are many men in England of superior 
abilities, (continued Byron,) who are lost from 
the habits and inferiority of their associates. 
Such men, finding that they cannot raise their 
companions to their level, are but too apt to let 
themselves down to that of the persons they live 
with ; and hence many a man condescends to be 
merely a wit, and man of pleasure, who was born 
for better things. Poor Sheridan often played 
his character in society ; but he maintained his 
superiority over the herd, by having established a 
literary and political reputation ; and as I have 
heard him more than once say, when his jokes 
have drawn down plaudits from companions, to 
whom, of an evening at least, sobriety and sad- 
ness were alike unknown — ' It is some consolation, 
that if I set the table in a roar, I can at pleasure 
set the senate in a roar ; ' and this was muttered 
while under the influence of wine, and as if apol- 
ogizing to his own mind for the profanation it 
was evident he felt he had offered to it at the 
moment. Lord A — ley is a delightful companion, 
(said Byron,) brilliant, witty, and playful ; he can 



204 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

be irresistibly comic when he pleases, but what 
could he not be if he pleased ? for he has talents 
to be any thing. I lose patience when I see such 
a man throw himself away ; for there are plenty 
of men, who could be witty, brilliant, and comic, 
but who could be nothing else, while he is all 
these, but could be much more. How many men 
have made a figure in public life, without half his 
abilities ! But indolence and the love of pleasure 

will be the bane of A y, as it has been of 

many a man of talent before." 

The more I see of Byron the more am I con- 
vinced that all he says and does should be judged 
more leniently that the sayings and doings of 
others — as his proceed from the impulse of the 
moment, and never from premeditated malice. 
He cannot resist expressing whatever comes into 
his mind ; and the least shade of the ridiculous is 
seized by him at a glance, and portrayed with a 
facility and a felicity that must encourage the 
propensity to ridicule, which is inherent in him. 
All the malice of his nature has lodged itself on 
his lips and the fingers of his right hand — for there 
is none I am persuaded to be found in his heart, 
which has more of good than most people give 
him credit for, except those who have lived with 
him on habits of intimacy. He enters into society 
as children do their play-ground, for relaxation 



WITH LOED BYRON. 205 

and amusement, after his mind has been strained 
to its utmost stretch, and that he feels the neces- 
sity of unbending it. Ridicule is his play ; it 
amuses him perhaps the more that he sees it 
amuses others, and much of its severity is miti- 
gated by the boyish glee, and laughing sportive- 
ness, with which his sallies are uttered. All this 
is felt when he is conversing, but unfortunately it 
cannot be conveyed to the reader; the narrator 
would therefore deprecate the censure his sar- 
casms may excite in the memory of the smiles 
and gayety that palliated them when spoken. 

Byron is fond of talking of Napoleon, and told 
me that his admiration of him had much in- 
creased since he had been in Italy, and witnessed 
the stupendous works he had planned and exe- 
cuted. " To pass through Italy without thinking 
of Napoleon, (said he,) is like visiting Naples 
without looking at Vesuvius." Seeing me smile 
at the comparison, he added — " Though the 
works of one are indestructible, and the other de- 
structive, still one is continually reminded of the 
power of both." " And yet (said I) there are 
days, that, like all your other favorites, Napoleon 
does not escape censure." " That may be, (said 
Byron,) but I find fault, and quarrel with Napo- 
leon, as a lover does with the trifling faults of his 
mistress, from excessive liking, which tempts me 



206 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

to desire that he had been all faultless ; and, like 
the lover, I return with renewed fondness after 
each quarrel. Napoleon (continued Byron) was 
a grand creature, and though he was hurled from 
his pedestal, after having made thrones his foot- 
stool, his memory still remains, like the colossal 
statue of the Memnon, though cast down from 
its seat of honor, still bearing the ineffaceable 
traces of grandeur and sublimity, to astonish 
future ages. When Metternich (continued By- 
ron) was depreciating the genius of Napoleon, in 
a circle at Vienna where his word was a law, and 
his nod a decree, he appealed to John William 
Ward, if Bonaparte had not been greatly over- 
rated. — Ward's answer was as courageous as 
admirable. He replied, that < Napoleon had ren- 
dered past glory doubtful, and future fame impos- 
sible." This was expressed in French, and such 
pure French, that all present were struck with 
admiration, no less with the thought than with 
the mode of expressing it." I told Byron that 
this reminded me of a reply made by Mr. Ward 
to a lady at Vienna, who somewhat rudely re- 
marked to him, that it was strange that all the 
best society at Vienna spoke French as well as 
German, while the English scarcely spoke French 
at all, or spoke it ill. Ward answered, that the 
English must be excused for their want of 



WITH LORD BYRON. 207 

practice, as the French army had not been twice 
to London to teach them, as they had been at 
Vienna. " The coolness of Ward's manner (said 
Byron) must have lent force to such a reply ; I 
have heard him say many things worth remem- 
bering, and the neatness of their expression was 
as remarkable as the justness of the thought. It 
is a pity (continued Byron) that Ward has not 
written any thing ; his style, judging by letters of 
his that I have seen, is admirable, and reminded 
me of Sallust." 

Having, one day, taken the liberty of (what he 
termed) scolding Lord Byron, and finding him 
take it with his usual good-nature, I observed 
that I was agreeably surprised by the patience 
with which he listened to my lectures ; he smiled, 
and replied, " No man dislikes being lectured by 
a woman, provided she be not his mother, sister, 
wife, or mistress : first, it implies that she takes an 
interest in him, and, secondly, that she does not 
think him irreclaimable, then there is not that air 
of superiority in women when they give advice, 
that men, particularly one's contemporaries, affect, 
and even if there was, men think their own 
superiority so acknowledged, that they listen 
without humiliation to the gentler, I don't say 
weaker, sex. There is one exception, however, 
for I confess I could not stand being lectured by 



208 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Lady , but then she is neither of the weak 

nor gentle sex — she is a nondescript — having all 
the faults of both sexes, without the virtues of 
either. Two lines in the ' Henriade,' describing 

Catherine de Medicis, seem made for Lady 

(continued Byron) — 

Poss^dant en un mot, pour n'en pas dire plus, 
Les deTauts de son sexe et peu de ses vertus." 

I remember only one instance of Byron's being 
displeased with my frankness. We were return- 
ing on horseback from Nervi, and, in defending a 
friend of mine, whom he assailed with all the 
slings and arrows of ridicule and sarcasm, I was 
obliged to be more severe than usual ; and hav- 
ing at that moment arrived at the turn of the 
road that led to Albaro, he politely, but coldly, 
wished me good bye, and galloped off. We had 
scarcely advanced a hundred yards, when he 
came galloping after us, and, reaching out his 
hand, said to me, " Come, come, give me your 
hand, I cannot bear that we should part so for- 
mally ; I am sure what you have said was right, 
and meant for my good ; so God bless you, and 
to-morrow we shall ride again, and I promise to 
say nothing that can produce a lesson." We all 
agreed that we had never seen Byron appear to 
so much advantage. He gives me the idea of be- 
ing the man the most easily to be managed I ever 



WITH LORD BYRON. 209 

saw ; I wish Lady Byron had discovered the 
means, and both might now be happier. 

Lord Byron told me that La Contessa Guic- 
cioli had repeatedly asked him to discontinue 
Don Juan, as its immorality shocked her, and 
that she could not bear that any thing of the 
kind should be written under the same roof with, 
her. " To please her, (said Byron,) I gave it up 
for some time, and have only got permission to 
continue it on condition of making my hero a 
more moral person. I shall end by making him 
turn Methodist ; this will please the English, and 
be an amende honorable for his sins and mine. I 
once got an anonymous letter, written in a very 
beautiful female hand, (said Byron,) on the sub- 
ject of Don Juan, with a beautiful illustrative 
drawing, beneath which was written — 'When 
Byron wrote the first Canto of Don Juan, Love,, 
that had often guided his pen, resigned it to Sen- 
suality — and Modesty, covering her face with her 
veil, to hide her blushes and dry her tears, fled 
from him for ever.' The drawing (continued By- 
ron) represented Love and Modesty turning their 
backs on wicked Me — and Sensuality, a fat, 
flushed, wingless Cupid, presenting me with a 
pen. Was not this a pretty conceit ? At all 
events, it is some consolation to occupy the at- 
tention of women so much, though it is but by 

14 



210 



JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



rny faults; and I confess it gratifies me. Apropos 
to Cupid — it is strange (said Byron) that the an- 
cients, in their mythology, should represent Wis- 
dom by a woman, and Love by a boy ! how do 
you account for this ? I confess I have little 
faith in Minerva, and think that Wisdom is, 
perhaps, the last attribute I should be inclined 
to give woman ; but then I do allow, that Love 
would be more suitably represented by a female 
than a male; for men or boys feel not the pas- 
sion with the delicacy and purity that women 
do ; and this is my real opinion, which must be 
my peace-offering for doubting the wisdom of 
your sex/' 

Byron is infirm of purpose — decides without 
reflection — and gives up his plans if they are 
opposed for any length of time ; but, as far as I 
can judge of him, though he yields, he does it 
not with a good grace.- He is a man likely to 
show that such a sacrifice of self-will was offered 
up more through indolence than affection, so that 
his yielding can seldom be quite satisfactory, at 
least to a delicate mind. He says that all women 
are exigeante, and apt to be dissatisfied; he is, as 
I have told him, too selfish and indolent not to 
have given those who had more than a common 
interest in him cause to be so. It is such men as 
Byron who complain of women ; they touch not 



WITH LORD BYRON. 211 

the chords that give sweet music in woman's 
breast, but strike — with a bold and careless hand 
— those that jar and send forth discord. Byron 
has a false notion on the subject of women ; he 
fancies that they are all disposed to be tyrants, 
and that the moment they know their power they 
abuse it. We have had many arguments on 
this point — I maintaining that the more disposed 
men were to yield to the empire of woman, the 
less were they inclined to exact, as submission 
disarmed, and attention and affection enslaved 
them. 

Men are capable of making great sacrifices, 
who are not willing to make the lesser ones, on 
which so much of the happiness of life depends. 
The great sacrifices are seldom called for, but 
the minor ones are in daily requisition ; and the 
making them with cheerfulness and grace en- 
hances their value, and banishes from the do- 
mestic circle the various misunderstandings, dis- 
cussions, and coldnesses, that arise to embitter 
existence, where a little self-denial might have 
kept them off. Woman is a creature of feeling 
— easily wounded, but susceptible of all the soft 
and kind emotions ; destroy this sensitiveness, 
and you rob her of her greatest attraction ; 
study her happiness, and you insure your own. 

" One of the things that most pleases me in 



212 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the Italian character (said Byron) is the total 
absence of that belief, which exists so generally 
in England in the mind of each individual, that 
the circle in which he lives, and which he digni- 
fies by calling The World, is occupied with him 
and his actions — an idea founded on the extreme 
vanity that characterizes the English, and pre- 
cludes the possibility of living for one's self or 
those immediately around one. How many of 
my soi-disant friends in England are dupes to 
this vanity (continued Byron) — keeping up ex- 
pensive establishments, which they can ill afford 
— living in crowds ; and with people who do not 
suit them — feeling ennuyes day after day, and 
yet submitting to all this tiresome routine of 
vapid reunions — living, during the fashionable 
season, if living it can be called, in a state of 
intermitting fever, for the sake of being con- 
sidered to belong to a certain set. During the 
time I passed in London, I always remarked 
that I never met a person who did not tell me 
how bored he or she had been the day or night 
before at Lady This or Lady That's ; and when 
I've asked, ' Why do you go, if it bores you ? ' 
the invariable answer has been — * One can't help 
going ; it would be so odd not to go.' Old and 
young, ugly and handsome, all have the rage, in 
England, of losing their identity in crowds ; and 



WITH LOED BYEON. 213 

prefer conjugating the verb ennuyer en masse in 
heated rooms, to conning it over in privacy in a 
purer atmosphere. The constancy and perseve- 
rance with which our compatriots support fash- 
ionable life, have always been to me a subject of 
wonder, if not of admiration, and proves what 
they might be capable of in a good cause. I am 
curious to know (continued Byron) if the rising 
generation will fall into the same inane routine ; 
though it is to be hoped the march of intellect 
will have some influence in establishing some- 
thing like society, which has hitherto been only 
to be found in country-houses. I spent a week 

at Lady J y's once, and very agreeably it 

passed ; the guests were well chosen — the host 
and hostess on 'hospitable thoughts intent' — the 
establishment combining all the luxury of a mai- 
son montee en prince with the ease and comfort 
of a well-ordered home. How different do the 
same people appear in London and in the coun- 
try! — they are hardly to be recognized. In the 
latter they are as natural and unaffected, as they 
are insipid or over-excited in the former. A cer- 
tain place (continued Byron) not to be named to 
4 ears polite,' is said to be paved with good inten- 
tions, and London (viewing the effect it produces 
on its fashionable inhabitants^ may really be 
supposed to be paved by evil passions, as few 



214 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

can touch its pave without contamination. I 
have been reading Lord John Russell's Essays 
on London Society, and find them clever and 
amusing, (said Byron,) but too microscopic for 
my taste ; he has, however, treated the subject 
with a lightness and playfulness best suited to it, 
and his reflections show an accuracy of observa- 
tion that proves he is capable of better things, 
He who would take a just view of the world 
must neither examine it through a microscope 
nor a magnifying-glass. Lord John is a sensible 
and amiable man, and bids fair to distinguish 
himself. 

" Do you know Hallam ? (said Byron.) Of 
course, I need not ask if you have read his * Mid- 
dle Ages ; ' it is an admirable work, full of re- 
search, and does Hallam honor. I know no one 
capable of having written it except him ; for, 
admitting that a writer could be found who could 
bring to the task his knowledge and talents, it 
would be difficult to find one who united to these 
his research, patience, and perspicuity of style. 
The reflections of Hallam are at once just and 
profound — his language well chosen and impres- 
sive. I remember (continued Byron) being struck 
by a passage, where, touching on the Venetians, 
he writes — ' Too blind to avert danger, too cow- 
ardly to withstand it, the most ancient govern- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 215 

ment of Europe made not an instant's resist- 
ance : the peasants of Underwald died upon their 
mountains — the nobles of Venice clung only to 
their lives.' This is the style in which history 
ought to be written, if it is wished to impress it 
on the memory ; and I found myself, on my first 
perusal of the ' Middle Ages,' repeating aloud 
many such passages as the one I have cited, they 
struck my fancy so much. Robertson's State of 
Europe, in his ' Charles the Fifth,' is another of 
my great favorites (continued Byron); it con- 
tains an epitome of information. Such works do 
more towards the extension of knowledge than 
half the ponderous tomes that lumber up our 
libraries ; they are the railroads to learning ; while 
the others are the neglected old roads that deter 
us from attempting the journey. 

" It is strange (said Byron) that we are in gen- 
eral much more influenced by the opinions of 
those whose sentiments ought to be a matter of 
indifference to us, than by that of near or dear 
friends ; nay, we often do things totally opposed 
to the opinions of the latter, (on whom much, if 
not all, our comfort depends,) to cultivate that 
of the former, who are or can be nothing in the 
scale of our happiness. It is in this opposition 
between our conduct and our affections, that 
much of our troubles originates ; it loosens the 



216 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

bonds of affection between us and those we 
ought to please, and fails to excite any good will 
in those whom our vanity leads us to wish to 
propitiate, because they are regardless of us and 
of our actions. With all our selfishness, this is 
a great mistake (continued Byron) ; for, as I take 
it for granted we have all some feelings of natu- 
ral affection for our kindred or friends, and, con- 
sequently, wish to retain theirs, we never wound 
or offend them without its reacting on ourselves, 
by alienating them from us ; hence, selfishness 
ought to make us study the wishes of those to 
whom we look for happiness ; and the principle 
of doing as you would be done by, a principle 
which, if acted upon, could not fail to add to 
the stock of general good, was founded in wis- 
dom, and knowledge of the selfishness of human 
nature." 

Talking of Mr. D. K , Byron said : " My 

friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot 
compensate for an irritable temper ; whenever he 
is named, people dwell on the last and pass over 
the first ; and yet he really has an excellent heart, 
and a sound head, of which I, in common with 
many others of his friends, have various proofs. 
He is clever, too, and well informed, and 1 do 
think would have made a figure in the world, 
were it not for his temper, which gives a die- 



WITH LORD BYEON. 217 

tatorial tone to his manner, that is offensive to 
the amour propre of those with whom he 
mixes ; and when you alarm that, (said Byron,) 
there is an end of your influence. By tacitly 
admitting the claims of vanity of others, you 
make at least acquiescent beholders of your own, 
and this is something gained ; for, depend on it, 
disguise it how we will, vanity is the prime 
mover in most, if not all, of us, and some of 
the actions and works that have the most excited 
our admiration have been inspired by this pas- 
sion, that none will own to, yet that influences 
all. 

" The great difference between the happy and 
unhappy (said Byron) is, that the former are 
afraid to contemplate death, and the latter look 
forward to it as a release from suffering. Now, 
as death is inevitable, and life brief and uncer- 
tain, unhappiness, viewed in this point, is rather 
desirable than otherwise ; but few, I fear, derive 
consolation from the reflection. I think of death 
often, (continued Byron,) as I believe do most 
people who are not happy ; and view it as a 
refuge, ' where the wicked cease from troubling, 
and the weary are at rest.' There is something 
calm and soothing to me in the thought of death ; 
and the only time that I feel a repugnance to it 
is on a fine day, in solitude, in a beautiful coun- 



218 JOUENAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

try, when all nature seems rejoicing in light and 
life. The contrast then between the beautiful and 
animated world around me, and the dark, nar- 
row grave, gives a chill to the feelings ; for, with 
all the boasted philosophy of man, his physical 
being influences his notions of that state where 
they can be felt no more. The nailed down cof- 
fin, and the dark, gloomy vault, or grave, always 
mingle with our thoughts of death ; then the 
decomposition of our mortal frames, the being 
preyed on by reptiles, add to the disgusting horror 
of the picture, and one has need of all the hopes 
of immortality to enable one to pass over this 
bridge between the life we know and the life we 
hope to find. 

" Do you know (said Byron) that when I have 
looked on some face that I love, imagination has 
often figured the changes that death must one 
day produce on it — the worm rioting on lips now 
smiling, the features and hues of health changed 
to the livid and ghastly tints of putrefaction ; 
and the image conjured up to my fancy, but 
which is as true as it is a fearful anticipation 
of what must arrive, has left an impression 
for hours that the actual presence of the object, 
in all the bloom of health, has not been able to 
banish ; this is one of my pleasures of imagina- 
tion." 



WITH LOED BYRON. 219 

Talking of hypochondriasm, Byron said, that 
the world had little compassion for two of the 
most serious ills that human nature is subject to 
— mental or bodily hypochondriasm. " Real ail- 
ments may be cured, (said he,) but imaginary 
ones, either moral or physical, admit of no rem- 
edy. People analyze the supposed causes of 
maladies of the mind ; and if the sufferer be rich, 
well born, well looking, and clever in any way, 
they conclude he or she can have no cause for 
unhappiness ; nay, assign the cleverness, which 
is often the source of unhappiness, as among the 
adventitious gifts that increase, or ought to in- 
crease, the felicity, and pity not the unhappiness 
they cannot understand. They take the same 
view of imaginary physical ailments, never re- 
flecting that ' happiness (or health) is often but 
in opinion ; ' and that he who believes himself 
wretched or ill suffers, perhaps, more than he 
who has real cause for wretchedness, or who is 
laboring under disease with less acute sensibility 
to feel his troubles, and nerves subdued by ill 
health, which prevents his suffering from bodily 
ills as severely as does the hypochondriac from 
imaginary ones. The irritability of genius (con- 
tinued Lord Byron) is nothing more or less than 
a delicacy of organization, which gives a suscep- 
tibility to impressions to which coarser minds are 



220 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

never subject, and cultivation and refinement but 
increases it, until the unhappy victim becomes a 
prey to mental hypochondriasm." 

Byron furnished a melancholy illustration of 
the fate of genius; and, while he dwelt on the 
diseases to which it is subject, I looked at his fine 
features, already marked by premature age, and 
his face " sicklied o'er with the pale cast of 
thought," and stamped with decay, until I felt 
that his was no hypothetical statement. Alas ! — 

Noblest minds 
Sink soonest into ruin, like a tree 
That, with the weight of its own golden fruitage, 
Is bent down to the dust. 

" Do you know Mackintosh ? (asked Lord By- 
ron) — his is a mind of powerful calibre. Madame 
de Stael used to extol him to the skies, and was 
perfectly sincere in her admiration of him, which 
was not the case with all whom she praised. 
Mackintosh also praised her; bat his is a mind 
that, as Moore writes, ' rather loves to praise than 
blame ; ' for, with a judgment so comprehensive, 
a knowledge so general, and a critical acumen 
rarely to be met with, his sentences are never 
severe. He is a powerful writer and speaker ; 
there is an earnestness and vigor in his style, and 
a force and purity in his language, equally free 
from inflation and loquacity. Lord Erskine is, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 221 

I know, a friend of yours, (continued Byron,) 
and a most gifted person he is. The Scotch are 
certainly very superior people ; with intellects nat- 
urally more acute than the English, they are better 
educated, and make better men of business. 
Erskine is full of imagination, and in this he 
resembles your countrymen, the Irish, more than 
the Scotch. The Irish would make better poets, 
and the Scotch philosophers ; but this excess of 
imagination gives a redundancy to the writings 
and speeches of the Irish that I object to ; they 
come down on one with similes, tropes, and met- 
aphors, a superabundance of riches, that makes 
one long for a little plain matter-of-fact. An 
Irishman, of course I mean a clever one, (con- 
tinued Byron,) educated in Scotland, would be 
perfection, for the Scots professors would prune 
down the over-luxuriant shoots of his imagina- 
tion, and strengthen his reasoning powers. I 
hope you are not very much offended with me 
for this critique on your countrymen (continued 
Byron) ; but, en revanche, I give you carte blanche 
to attack mine as much as you please, and will 
join in your strictures to the utmost extent to 
which you wish to go. Lord Erskine is, or was, 
(said Byron) for I suppose age has not improved 
him more than it generally does people — the most 
brilliant person imaginable — quick, vivacious, and 



222 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

sparkling, he spoke so well that I never felt tired 
of listening to him, even when he abandoned 
himself to that subject of which all his other 
friends and acquaintances expressed themselves 
so fatigued — self. His egotism was remarkable, 
but there was a bonhommie in it that showed he 
had a better opinion of mankind than they de- 
served ; for it implied a belief that his listeners 
could be interested in what concerned him, whom 
they professed to like. He was deceived in this, 
(continued Byron,) as are all who have a favor- 
able opinion of their fellow-men ; in society, all 
and each are occupied with self^ and can rarely 
pardon any one who presumes to draw their at- 
tention to other subjects for any length of time. 
Erskine had been a great man, and he knew it ; 
and, in talking so continually of self, imagined 
that he was but the echo of fame. All his tal- 
ents, wit, and brilliancy were insufficient to excuse 
this weakness in the opinion of his friends ; and 
I have seen bores, acknowledged bores, turn from 
this clever man, with every symptom of ennui, 
when he has been reciting an interesting anec- 
dote, merely because he was the principal actor 
in it. 

" This fastidiousness of the English, (contin- 
ued Byron,) and habit of pronouncing people 
bores, often impose on strangers and stupid peo- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 223 

pie, who conceive that it arises from delicacy of 
taste and superior abilities. I never was taken 
in by it, for I have generally found that those 
who were the most ready to pronounce others 
bores, had the most indisputable claims to that 
title in their own persons. The truth is, (con* 
tinued Byron,) the English are very envious ; 
they are au fond ) conscious that they are dread- 
fully dull — being loquacious without liveliness, 
proud without dignity, and brusque without sin- 
cerity ; they never forgive those who show that 
they have made the same discovery, or who 
occupy public attention of which they are jeal- 
ous. An Englishman rarely condescends to take 
the trouble of conciliating admiration, (though 
he is jealous of esteem,) and he as rarely par- 
dons those who have succeeded in attaining it. 
They are jealous (continued Byron) of popu- 
larity of every sort, and not only depreciate the 
talents that obtain it, whatever they may be, but 
the person who possesses them. I have seen in 
London, in one of the circles the most recherche, 
a literary man a la mode universally attacked by 
the elite of the party, who were damning his 
merits with faint praise, and drawing his defects 
into notice, until some other candidate for appro- 
bation as a conversationist, a singer, or even a 
dancer was named, when all fell upon him — 



224 JOUKNAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 

proving that a superiority of tongue, voice, or 
heel was as little to be pardoned as genius or 
talent. I have known people (continued Byron) 
talk of the highest efforts of genius, as if they 
had been within the reach of each of the com- 
mon-place individuals of the circle ; and com- 
ment on the acute reasonings of some logician, 
as if they could have made the same deductions 
from the same premises, though ignorant of the 
most simple syllogism. Their very ignorance of 
the subjects on ■which they pronounce is perhaps 
the cause of the fearless decisions they give, for, 
knowing nought, they think every thing easy ; 
but this impertinence (continued Byron) is dif- 
ficult to be borne by those who know ' how 
painful 'tis to climb,' and who having, by labor, 
gained some one of the eminences in literature — 
which, alas ! as we all know, are but as mole- 
hills compared to the acclivity they aim at as- 
cending — are the more deeply impressed with the 
difficulties that they have yet to surmount. I 
have never yet been satisfied with any one of my 
own productions ; I cannot read them over with- 
out detecting a thousand faults ; but when I 
read critiques upon them by those who could not 
have written them, I lose my patience. 

" There is an old and stupid song, (said By- 
ron,) that says — < Friendship with woman is sis- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 225 

ter to love.' There is some truth in this ; for 
let a man form a friendship with a woman, even 
though she be no longer young or handsome, 
there is a softness and tenderness attached to it 
that no male friendship can know. A proof of 

this is, that Lady M , who might have been 

my mother, excited an interest in my feelings 
that few young women have been able to 
awaken. She was a charming person — a sort 
of modern Aspasia, uniting the energy of a 
man's mind with the delicacy and tenderness of 
a woman's. She wrote and spoke admirably, 
because she felt admirably. Envy, malice, ha- 
tred, or uncharitableness, found no place in her 
feelings. She had all of philosophy, save its 
moroseness, and all of nature, save its defects 
and general faiblesse ; or, if some portion of 
faiblesse attached to her, it only served to ren- 
der her more forbearing to the errors of others. 
I have often thought that, with a little more 

youth, Lady M might have turned my head ; 

at all events, she often turned my heart, by bring- 
ing me back to mild feelings, when the demon 
passion was strong within me. Her mind and 
heart were as fresh as if only sixteen summers had 
flown over her, instead of four times that num- 
ber; and the mind and heart always leave exter- 
nal marks of their state of health. Goodness is 

15 



226 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the best cosmetic that has yet been discovered; 
for I am of opinion that, not according to our 
friend Moore — 

As the shining casket's worn 
The gem within will tarnish too, — 

but au contraire, the decay of the gem will tar- 
nish the casket — the sword will wear away the 
scabbard. Then how rare is it to see age give its 
experience without its hardness of heart ! — and 
this was Lady M 's case. She was a capti- 
vating creature, malgre her eleven or twelve lus- 
tres, and I shall always love her. 

" Did you know William Spencer, the Poet of 
Society, as they used to call him ? (said Byron.) 
His was really what your countrymen call an 
elegant mind, polished, graceful, and sentimental, 
with just enough gayety to prevent his being 
lachrymose, and enough sentiment to prevent his 
being too anacreontic. There was a great deal of 
genuine fun in Spencer's conversation, as well as 
a great deal of refined sentiment in his verses. I 
liked both, for both were perfectly aristocratic in 
their way ; neither one nor the other was calcu- 
lated to please the canaille, which made me like 
them all the better. England was, after all I 
may say against it, very delightful in my day ; 
that is to say, there were some six or seven very 
delightful people among the hundred common- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 227 

place that one saw every day — seven stars, the 
Pleiades, visible when all others had hid their 
diminished heads ; and, look where we may, 
where can we find so many stars united else- 
where ? Moore, Campbell, Rogers, Spencer, as 
poets ; and how many conversationists to be 
added to the galaxy of stars, — one set irradiat- 
ing our libraries of a morning, and the other 
illuminating our dining-rooms of an evening ! 
All this was, and would be, very delightful, could 
you have confined the stars within their own 
planets ; but, alas ! they were given to wander 
into other spheres, and often set in the arctic cir- 
cles, the frozen zones of nobility. I often thought 
at that time, (continued Byron,) that England 
had reached the pinnacle — that point where, as 
no advance can be made, a nation must retro- 
grade — and I don't think I was wrong. Our 
army had arrived at a state of perfection before 
unknown ; Wellington's star was in the ascen- 
dant, and all others paled before its influence. 
We had Grey, Grenville, Wellesley, and Holland 
in the House of Peers, and Sheridan, Canning, 
Burdett, and Tierney in the Commons. In so- 
ciety, we were rich in poets, then in their zenith, 
now, alas ! fallen into the sear and yellow leaf ; 
and in wits, of whom one did not speak in the 
past tense. Of these, those whom the destroyer 



228 JOUENAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Time has not cut off he has mutilated ; the wine 
of their lives has turned sour, and lost its body — 
and who is there to supply their places? The 
march of intellect has been preceded by pioneers, 
who have levelled all the eminences of distinc- 
tion, and reduced all to the level of decent medi- 
ocrity. 

" It is said that, as people grow old, they mag- 
nify the superiority of past times, and detract 
from the advantages of the present ; this is natu- 
ral enough, for, admitting that the advantages 
were equal, we view them through a different 
medium — the sight, like all the other senses, loses 
its fine perceptions, and nought looks as bright 
through the dim optics of age as through the 
bright ones of youth ; but, as I have only reached 
the respectable point of middle age, (continued 
Byron,) I cannot attribute my opinion of the fall- 
ing off of the present men to my senility ; and I 
really see or hear of no young men, either in the 
literary or political fields of London, who prom- 
ise to supply the places of the men of my time — 
no successional crop, to replace the passing or 
the past." I told Byron that the march of intel- 
lect had rendered the spread of knowledge so 
general, that young men abstained from writing, 
or at least from publishing, until they thought 
they had produced something likely to obtain 



WITH LORD BYRON. 229 

attention, which was now much more difficult 
to be obtained than formerly, as people grew 
more fastidious every day. He would not agree 
to this, but maintained that mediocrity was the 
distinguishing feature of the present times, and 
that we should see no more men like those of his 
day. To hear Byron talk of himself, one would 
suppose that, instead of thirty-six, he was sixty 
years old ; there is no affectation in this, as he 
says he feels all the languor and exhaustion of 
age. 

Byron always talks in terms of high admira- 
tion of Mr. Canning ; says he is a man of supe- 
rior abilities, brilliant fancy, cultivated mind, and 
the most effective eloquence ; and adds, that Can- 
ning only wanted to be born to a good estate to 
have made a great statesman. " Fortune (con- 
tinued Byron) would have saved him from ter- 
giversation, the bare suspicion of which is destruc- 
tive to the confidence a statesman ought to inspire. 
As it is, (said he,) Canning is brilliant, but not 
great, with all the elements in him that constitute 
greatness." 

Talking of Lord , Byron observed, that 

his success in life was a proof of the weight 
that fortune gave a man, and his popularity a 
certain sign of his mediocrity ; " the first (said 
Byron) puts him out of the possibility of being 



230 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

suspected of mercenary motives, and the second 
precludes envy ; yet you hear him praised at 
every side for his independence ! — and a great 
merit it is, truly, (said he,) in a man who has 
high rank and large fortune — what can he want, 
and where could be the temptation to barter his 
principles, since he already has all that people 
seek in such a traffic ? No, I see no merit in 

Lord 's independence ; give me the man 

who is poor and untitled, with talents to excite 
temptation, and honesty to resist it, and I will 
give him credit for independence of principle, 
because he deserves it. People (continued By- 
ron) talk to you of Lord 's high character 

— in what does it consist ? Why, in being, as 
I before said, put by fortune and rank beyond the 
power of temptation — having an even temper, 
thanks to a cool head and a colder heart! — and 
a mediocrity of talents, that insures his being 
( content to live in decencies forever,' while it 
exempts him from exciting envy or jealousy, the 
followers of excellence." 

Byron continually reverts to Sir Walter Scott, 
and always in terms of admiration for his genius, 
and affection for his good qualities ; he says that 
he never gets up from the perusal of one of his 
works, without finding himself in a better dispo- 
sition ; and that he generally reads his novels 



WITH LOED BYRON. 231 

three times. " I find such a just mode of think- 
ing," said Byron, " that I could fill volumes with 
detached thoughts from Scott, all, and each, full 
of truth and beauty. Then how good are his 
definitions ! Do you remember, in c Peveril of 
the Peak,' where he says, l Presence of mind is 
courage. Real valor consists, not in being insen- 
sible to danger, but in being prompt to confront 
and disarm it.' How true is this, and what an 
admirable distinction between moral and physi- 
cal courage?" 

I complimented him on his memory, and he 
added : " My memory is very retentive, but the 
passage I repeated I read this morning for the 
third time. How applicable to Scott's works is 
the observation made by Madame du Deffand on 
Richardson's Novels, in one of her letters to Vol- 
taire : ' La morale y est en action, et n'a jamais 
ete traitee d'une maniere plus interessante. On 
meurt d'envie d'etre parfait apres cette lecture, et 
l'on croit que rien n'est si aise.' I think," con- 
tinued Byron, after a pause, "that Scott is the 
only very successful genius that could be cited as 
being as generally beloved as a man, as he is ad- 
mired as an author; and, I must add, he deserves 
it, for he is so thoroughly good-natured, sincere, 
and honest, that he disarms the envy and jeal- 
ousy his extraordinary genius must excite. I 



232 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

hope to meet Scott once more before I die ; for, 
worn out as are my affections, he still retains a 
strong hold of them." 

There was something highly gratifying to the 
feelings in witnessing the warmth and cordiality 
that Byron's countenance and manner displayed 
when talking of Sir W. Scott; it proved how 
capable he was of entertaining friendship — a 
sentiment of which he so frequently professed to 
doubt the existence : but in this, as on many 
other points, he never did himself justice; and 
the turn for ridicule and satire implanted in his 
nature led him to indulge in observations in 
which his real feelings had no share. Circum- 
stances had rendered Byron suspicious ; he was 
apt to attribute every mark of interest or good- 
will shown to him as emanating from vanity, 
that sought gratification by a contact with his 
poetical celebrity ; this encouraged his predilec- 
tion for hoaxing, ridiculing, and doubting friends 
and friendship. But as Sir W. Scott's own well- 
earned celebrity put the possibility of such a 
motive out of the question, Byron yielded to the 
sentiment of friendship in all its force for him, 
and never named him but with praise and affec- 
tion. Byron's was a proud mind, that resisted 
correction, but that might easily be led by kind- 
ness; his errors had been so severely punished, 






WITH LORD BYRON. 233 

that he became reckless and misanthropic, to 
avenge the injustice he had experienced ; and, as 
misanthropy was foreign to his nature, its partial 
indulgence produced the painful state of being 
continually at war with his better feelings, and 
of rendering him dissatisfied with himself and 
others. 

Talking of the effects that ingratitude and dis- 
appointments produced on the character of the 
individual who experienced them, Byron said, 
"that they invariably soured the nature of the 
person, who, when reduced to this state of acid- 
ity, was decried as a cynical, ill-natured brute. 
People wonder," continued he, "that a man is 
sour who has been feeding on acids all his life. 
The extremes of adversity and prosperity pro- 
duce the same effects ; they harden the heart, 
and enervate the mind ; they render a person so 
selfish, that, occupied solely with his own pains 
or pleasures, he ceases to feel for others ; hence, 
as sweets turn to acids as well as sours, excessive 
prosperity may produce the same consequences 
as adversity." 

His was a nature to be bettered by prosperity, 
and to be rendered obstinate by adversity. He 
invoked Stoicism to resist injustice, but its shield 
repelled not a single blow aimed at his peace, 
while its appearance deprived him of the sympa- 



234 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

thy for which his heart yearned. Let those, who 
would judge with severity the errors of this way- 
ward child of genius, look back at his days of 
infancy and youth, and ask themselves whether, 
under such unfavorable auspices, they could have 
escaped the defects that tarnish the lustre of his 
fame — defects rendered more obvious by the 
brightness they partially obscured, and which, 
without that brightness, had perhaps never been 
observed. 

An eagle confined in a cage could not have 
been more displaced than was Byron in the arti- 
ficial and conventional society that disgusted him 
with the world ; like that daring bird, he could 
fearlessly soar high, and contemplate the sun, but 
he was unfit for the busy haunts of men ; and he, 
whose genius could people a desert, pined in the 
solitude of crowds. The people he saw resem 
bled not the creatures his fancy had formed, and, 
with a heart yearning towards his fellow-men, 
pride and a false estimate of mankind repelled 
him from seeking their sympathy, though it de- 
prived them not of his, as not all his assumed 
Stoicism could subdue the kind feelings that 
spontaneously showed themselves when the mis- 
fortunes of others were named. Byron warred 
only with the vices and follies of his species ; and 
if he had a bitter jest and biting sarcasm for 



WITH LORD BYRON. 235 

these, he had pity and forbearance for affliction, 
even though deserved, and forgot the cause in the 
effect. Misfortune was sacred in his eyes, and 
seemed to be the last link of the chain that con- 
nected him with his fellow-men. I remember 
hearing a person in his presence revert to the 
unhappiness of an individual known to all the 
party present, and, having instanced some proofs 
of the unhappiness, observe, that the person was 
not to be pitied, for he had brought it on himself 
by misconduct. I shall never forget the expression 
of Byron's face ; it glowed with indignation, and, 
turning to the person who had excited it, he said, 
" If, as you say, this heavy misfortune has been 

caused by 's misconduct, then is he doubly 

to be pitied, for he has the reproaches of con- 
science to embitter his draught. Those who 
have lost what is considered the right to pity in 
losing reputation and self-respect, are the per- 
sons who stand most in need of commiseration ; 
and yet the charitable feelings of the over-moral 
would deny them this boon ; reserving it for those 
on whom undeserved misfortunes fall, and who 
have that within which renders pity superfluous, 
have also respect to supply its place. Nothing 
so completely serves to demoralize a man as the 
certainty that he has lost the sympathy of his 
fellow-creatures ; it breaks the last tie that binds 



236 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

him to humanity, and renders him reckless and 
irreclaimable. This," continued Byron, "is my 
moral; and this it is that makes me pity the 
guilty and respect the unfortunate." 

While he spoke, the earnestness of his manner, 
and the increased color and animation of his 
countenance, bore evident marks of the sincerity 
of the sentiments he uttered : it was at such 
moments that his native goodness burst forth, 
and pages of misanthropic sarcasms could not 
efface the impression they left behind, though 
he often endeavored to destroy such impressions 
by pleasantries against himself. 

" When you go to Naples you must make 
acquaintance with Sir William Drummond," said 
Byron, " for he is certainly one of the most eru- 
dite men, and admirable philosophers now living. 
He has all the wit of Voltaire, with a profundity 
that seldom appertains to wit, and writes so 
forcibly, and with such elegance and purity of 
style, that his works possess a peculiar charm. 
Have you read his ' Academical Questions ? ' if 
not, get them directly, and I think you will agree 
with me, that the preface to that work alone 
would prove Sir William Drummond an admir- 
able writer. He concludes it by the following 
sentence, which I think one of the best in our 
language — • ' Prejudice may be trusted to guard 






WITH LORD BYEON. 237 

the outworks for a short space of time, while 
Reason slumbers in the citadel ; but if the latter 
sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect 
a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and 
liberty, support each other ; he who will not rea- 
son is a bigot ; he who cannot is a fool ; and he 
who dares not is a slave.' Is not the passage 
admirable ? " continued Byron ; " how few could 
have written it, and yet how few read Drum- 
mond's works ! they are too good to be popular. 
His c Odin ' is really a fine poem, and has some 
passages that are beautiful, but it is so little read 
that it may be said to have dropped still-born 
from the press, a mortifying proof of the bad 
taste of the age. His translation of Persius is 
not only very literal, but preserves much of the 
spirit of the original ; a merit that, let me tell 
you, is very rare at present, when translations 
have about as much of the spirit of the original 
as champagne diluted with three parts of water 
may be supposed to retain of the pure and spark- 
ling wine. Translations, for the most part re- 
semble imitations, where the marked defects are 
exaggerated, and the beauties passed over, al- 
ways excepting the imitations of Mathews," con- 
tinued Byron, " who seems to have continuous 
chords in his mind, that vibrate to those in the 
minds of others, as he gives not only the look. 



238 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

tones, and manners of the persons he personifies, 
but the very train of thinking, and the expres- 
sions they indulge in; and, strange to say, this 
modern Proteus succeeds best when the imitated 
is a person of genius or great talent, as he seems 
to identify himself with him. His imitation of 
Curran can hardly be so called — it is a continu- 
ation, and is inimitable. I remember Sir Walter 
Scott's observing, that Mathews's imitations were 
of the mind, to those who had the key ; but as 
the majority had it not, they were contented with 
admiring those of the person, and pronounced 
him a mimic who ought to be considered an 
accurate and philosophic observer of human na- 
ture, blessed with the rare talent of intuitively 
identifying himself with the minds of others. 
But, to return to Sir William Dmmmond," con- 
tinued Byron, " he has escaped all the defects of 
translators, and his Persius resembles the original 
as nearly in feeling and sentiment as two lan- 
guages so dissimilar in idiom will admit. Trans- 
lations almost always disappoint me ; I must, 
however, except Pope's ' Homer,' which has more 
of the spirit of Homer than all the other transla- 
tions put together, and the Teian bard himself 
might have been proud of the beautiful odes 
which the Irish Anacreon has given us. 

" Of the wits about town, I think," said By- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 239 

ron, " that George Colman was one of the most 
agreeable ; he was toujours pret, and after two or 
three glasses of champagne, the quicksilver of his 
wit mounted to beau fixe. Colman has a good 
deal of tact ; he feels that convivial hours were 
meant for enjoyment, and understands society so 
well, that he never obtrudes any private feeling, 
except hilarity, into it. His jokes are all good, 
and readable, and flow without effort, like the 
champagne that often gives birth to them, spar- 
kle after sparkle, and brilliant to the last. Then 
one is sure of Colman," continued Byron, "which 
is a great comfort; for to be made to cry when 
one had made up one's mind to laugh, is a triste 
affair. I remember that this was the great draw- 
back with Sheridan ; a little wine made him mel- 
ancholy, and his melancholy was contagious ; for 
who could bear to see the wizard, who could at 
will command smiles or tears, yield to the latter 
without sharing them, though one wished that 
the exhibition had been less public? My feel- 
ings were never more excited than while writing 
the Monody on Sheridan — every word that I 
wrote came direct from the heart. Poor Sherry ! 
what a noble mind was in him overthrown by 
poverty ! and to see the men with whom he had 
passed his life, the dark souls whom his genius 
illumined, rolling in wealth, the Sybarites whose 



240 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

slumbers a crushed rose-leaf would have dis- 
turbed, leaving him to die on the pallet of pov- 
erty, his last moments disturbed by the myrmi- 
dons of the law. Oh ! it was enough to disgust 
one with human nature, but above all with the 
nature of those who, professing liberality, were so 
little acquainted with its twin-sister generosity. 

" I have seen poor Sheridan weep, and good 
cause had he," continued Byron. " Placed by 
his transcendent talents in an elevated sphere, 
without the means of supporting the necessary 
appearance, to how many humiliations must his 
fine mind have submitted, ere he had arrived at 
the state in which I knew him, of reckless jokes 
to pacify creditors of a morning, and alternate 
smiles and tears of an evening, round the boards 
where ostentatious dulness called in his aid to 
give a zest to the wine that often maddened him, 
but could not thaw the frozen current of their 
blood. Moore's Monody on Sheridan," contin- 
ued Byron, " was a fine burst of generous indig- 
nation, and is one of the most powerful of his 
compositions. It was as daring as my ' Avatar,' 
which was bold enough, and, God knows, true 
enough, but I have never repented it. Your 
countrymen behaved dreadfully on that occasion ; 
despair may support the chains of tyranny, but it 
is only baseness that can sing and dance in them. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 241 

as did the Irish on the 's visit. But I see 

you would prefer another subject, so let us talk 
of something else, though this cannot be a hu- 
miliating one to you personally, as I know your 
husband did not make one among the rabble at 
that Saturnalia. 

" The Irish are strange people," continued By- 
ron, " at one moment overpowered by sadness, 
and the next elevated to joy; impressionable as 
heated wax, and like it changing each time that 
it is warmed. The dolphin, when shone upon by 
the sun, changes not its hues more frequently 
than do your mobile countrymen, and this want 
of stability will leave them long wKat centuries 
have found them — slaves. I liked them before 
the degradation of 1822, but the dance in chains 
disgusted me. What would Grattan and Curran 
have thought of it? and Moore, why struck he 
not the harp of Erin to awaken the slumbering 
souls of his supine countrymen ! " 



10 



242 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



PART II. 

To those who only know Byron as an author, 
it would be difficult, if not impossible, to con- 
vey a just impression of him as a man. In him 
the elements of good and evil were so strongly 
mixed, that an error could not be detected that 
was not allied to some good quality; and his 
fine qualities, and they were many, could hardly 
be separated from the faults that sullied them. 
In bestowing on Byron a genius as versatile as it 
was brilliant and powerful, Nature had not de- 
nied him warmth of heart, and the kind affec- 
tions that beget, while they are formed to repay 
friendship ; but a false beau ideal that he had 
created for himself, and a wish of exciting won- 
der, led him into a line of conduct calculated to 
lower him in the estimation of superficial ob- 
servers, who judge from appearances, while those 
who had opportunities of observing him more 
nearly, and who made allowance for his besetting 
sin, (the assumption of vices and errors, that he 
either had not, or exaggerated the appearance 



WITH LOED BYE ON. 243 

of,) found in him more to admire than censure, 
and to pity than condemn. In his severest sa- 
tires, however much of malice there might be in 
the expression, there was little in the feeling that 
dictated them ; they came from the imagination 
and not from the heart, for in a few minutes after 
he had unveiled the errors of some friend or ac- 
quaintance, he would call attention to some of 
their good qualities with as much apparent plea- 
sure as he had dwelt on their defects. A nearly 
daily intercourse of ten weeks with Byron left the 
impression on my mind, that if an extraordinary 
quickness of perception prevented his passing 
over the errors of those with whom he came in 
contact, and a natural incontinence of speech be- 
trayed him into an exposure of them, a candor 
and good-nature, quite as remarkable, often led 
him to enumerate their virtues, and to draw at- 
tention to them. It may be supposed, that with 
such powerful talents, there was less excuse for 
the attacks he was in the habit of making on his 
friends and acquaintances ; but those very talents 
were the cause ; they suggested a thousand lively 
and piquant images to his fancy, relative to the 
defects of those with whom he associated ; and 
he had not self-command sufficient to repress the 
sallies that he knew must show at once his dis- 
crimination and talents for ridicule, and amuse 



244 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

his hearers, however they might betray a want 
of good-nature and sincerity. 

There was no premeditated malignity in By- 
ron's nature; though constantly in the habit of 
exposing the follies and vanity of his friends, I 
never heard him blacken their reputations, and I 
never felt an unfavorable impression from any of 
the censures he bestowed, because I saw they 
were aimed at follies, and not character. He 
used frequently to say that people hated him 
more for exposing their follies than if he had 
attacked their moral characters, adding, " Such 
is the vanity of human nature, that men would 
prefer being defamed to being ridiculed, and 
would much sooner pardon the first than the 
second. There is much more folly than vice in 
the world," said Byron. " The appearance of 
the latter is often assumed by the dictates of the 
former, and people pass for being vicious who 
are only foolish. I have seen such examples," 
continued he, " of this in the world, that it makes 
one rather incredulous as to the extent of actual 
vice ; but I can believe any thing of the capabili- 
ties of vanity and folly, having witnessed to what 
length they can go. I have seen women com- 
promise their honor (in appearance only) for the 
triumph (and a hopeful one) of rivalling some 
contemporary belle ; and men sacrifice theirs, in 



WITH LORD BYRON. 245 

reality, by false boastings for the gratification of 
vanity. All, all is vanity and vexation of spirit," 
added he ; " the first being the legitimate parent 
of the second, an offspring that, school it how 
you will, is sure to turn out a curse to its par- 
ent." 

" Lord Blessington has been talking to me 
about Mr. Gait," said Lord Byron, " and tells 
me much good of him. I am pleased at finding 
he is as amiable a man as his recent works prove 
him to be a clever and intelligent author. When 
I knew Gait, years ago, I was not in a frame of 
mind to form an impartial opinion of him ; his 
mildness and equanimity struck me even then ; 
but, to say the truth, his manner had not defer- 
ence enough for my then aristocratical taste, and 
finding I could not awe him into a respect suffi- 
ciently profound for my sublime self, either as a 
peer or an author, I felt a little grudge towards 
him that has now completely worn off. There is 
a quaint humor and observance of character in 
his novels that interest me very much, and when 
he chooses to be pathetic he fools one to his 
bent, for I assure you the 'Entail' beguiled me 
of some portion of watery humors, yclept tears, 
' albeit unused to the melting mood.' What I 
admire particularly in Gait's works," continued 
Byron, "is, that with a perfect knowledge of 



246 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

human nature and its frailties and legerdemain 
tricks, he shows a tenderness of heart which con- 
vinces one that his is in the right place, and he 
has a sly caustic humor that is very amusing. 
All that Lord Blessington has been telling me 
of Gait has made me reflect on the striking dif- 
ference between his (Lord B.'s) nature and my 
own. I had an excellent opportunity of judging 
Gait, being shut up on board ship with him for 
some days; and though I saw he was mild, equal, 
and sensible, I took no pains to cultivate his ac- 
quaintance further than I should with any com- 
mon-place person, which he was not ; and Lord 
Blessington in London, with a numerous ac- 
quaintance, and ' all appliances to boot,' for 
choosing and selecting, has found so much to 
like in Gait, malgre the difference of their poli- 
tics, that his liking has grown into friendship. 

" I must say that I never saw the milk of 
human kindness overflow in any nature to so 
great a degree, as in Lord Blessington's," con- 
tinued Byron. " I used, before I knew him well, 
to think that Shelley was the most amiable 
person I ever knew, but I now think that Lord B. 
bears off the palm, for he has been assailed by all 
the temptations that so few can resist, those of 
unvarying prosperity, and has passed the ordeal 
victoriously — a triumphant proof of the extra- 



WITH LOED BYE ON. 247 

ordinary goodness of his nature, while poor Shel- 
ley had been tried in the school of adversity only, 
which is not such a corrupter as is that of pros- 
perity. If Lord B. has not the power, Midas-like, 
of turning whatever he touches into gold," con- 
tinued Byron, " he has at least that of turning all 
into good. I, alas ! detect only the evil qualities 
of those that approach me, while he discovers the 
amiable. It appears to me, that the extreme ex- 
cellence of his own disposition prevents his attri- 
buting evil to others ; I do assure you," continued 
Byron, " I have thought better of mankind since 
I have known him intimately." The earnestness 
of Byron's manner convinced me that he spoke 
his real sentiments relative to Lord B., and that 
his commendations were not uttered with a view 
of gratifying me, but flowed spontaneously in the 
honest warmth of the moment. A long, daily 
and hourly knowledge of the person he praised, 
has enabled me to judge of the justice of the 
commendation, and Byron never spoke more 
truly than when he pronounced Lord B's a fault- 
less nature. While he was speaking, he continu- 
ally looked back, for fear that the person of whom 
he spoke should overhear his remarks, as he was 
riding behind, at a little distance from us. 

" Is Lady as restless and indefatigable as 

ever ? " asked Byron. — " She is an extraordinary 



248 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

woman, and the most thorough-paced manoeuvrer 
I ever met with ; she cannot make or accept an 
invitation, or perform any of the common courte- 
sies of life, without manoeuvring, and has always 
some plan in agitation, to which all her acquaint- 
ance are made subservient. This is so evident, 
that she never approached me that I did not ex- 
pect her to levy contributions on my muse, the 
only disposable property I possessed ; and I was 
as surprised as grateful at finding it was not 
pressed into the service for compassing some job, 
or accomplishing some mischief. Then she 
passes for being clever, when she is only cunning, 
her life has been passed in giving the best proof 
of want of cleverness, that of intriguing to carry 
points not worth intriguing for, and that must 
have occurred in the natural course of events 
without any manoeuvring on her part. Cleverness 
and cunning are incompatible — I never saw them 
united ; the latter is the resource of the weak, and 
is only natural to them. Children and fools are 
always cunning, but clever people never. The 
world, or rather the persons who compose it, are 
so indolent, that when they see great personal 
activity, joined to indefatigable and unshrinking 
exertion of tongue, they conclude that such effects 
must proceed from adequate causes, never reflect- 
ing that real cleverness requires not such aids; 



WITH LOED BYRON. 249 

but few people take the trouble of analyzing the 
actions or motives of others, and least of all when 
such others have no envy-stirring attractions. On 

this account Lady 's manoeuvres are set 

down to cleverness, but when she was young and 
pretty they were less favorably judged. Women 
of a certain age," continued Byron, " are for the 
most part bores or mecliantes. I have known 
some delightful exceptions, but on consideration 
they were past the certain age, and were no 
longer like the coffin of Mahomet hovering be- 
tween heaven and earth, that is to say, floating 
between maturity and age, but had fixed their 
persons on the unpretending easy chairs of vieil- 
lesse, and their thoughts neither on war nor 
conquest except the conquest of self. Age is 
beautiful when no attempt is made to modernize 
it. Who can look at the interesting remains of 
loveliness without some of the same tender feel- 
ings of melancholy with which we regard a fine 
ruin ! Both mark the triumph of the mighty con- 
queror Time, and whether we examine the eyes, 
the windows of the soul, through which love and 
hope once sparkled, now dim and languid, show- 
ing only resignation, or the ruined casements of 
the abbey or castle through which blazed the 
light of tapers, and the smoke of incense offered 
to the Deity, the feelings excited are much the 



250 JOUKNAL OF CONVEESATIONS 

same, and we approach both with reverence — 
always," interrupted Byron, "provided that the 
old beauty is not a specimen of the florid Gothic 
— by which I mean restored, painted and varn- 
ished — and that the abbey or castle is not white- 
washed ; both, under such circumstances, produce 
the same effect on me, and all reverence is lost ; 
but I do seriously admire age when it is not 
ashamed to let itself be seen, and look on it as 
something sanctified and holy, having passed 
through the fire of its passions, and being on the 
verge of the grave." 

" I once," said Byron, " found it necessary to 
call up all that could be said in favor of matured 
beauty, when my heart became captive to a 
donna of forty-six, who certainly excited as lively 
a passion in my breast as ever it has known ; 
and even now the autumnal charms of Lady 

are remembered by me with more than 

admiration. She resembled a landscape by 
Claude Lorraine, with a setting sun, her beauties 
enhanced by the knowledge that they were shed- 
ding their last dying beams which threw a radi- 
ance around. A woman," continued Byron, " is 
only grateful for hex first and last conquest. The 
first of poor dear Lady 's was achieved be- 
fore I entered on this world of care, but the last 
I do flatter myself was reserved for me and a 
bonne bouche it was." 



WITH LORD BYRON. 251 

I told Byron that his poetical sentiments of the 
attractions of matured beauty had, at the mo- 
ment, suggested four lines to me ; which he beg- 
ged me to repeat, and he laughed not a little 
when I recited the following lines to him : — 

Oh! talk not to me of the charms of youth's dimples, 
There's surely more sentiment center'd in wrinkles. 
They're the triumphs of time that mark beauty's decay, 
Telling tales of years past, and the few left to stay. 

;c I never spent an hour with Moore " said 
Byron, "without being ready to apply to him the 
expression attributed to Aristophanes, ' You have 
spoken roses ; ' his thoughts and expressions have 
all the beauty and freshness of those flowers, but 
the piquancy of his wit, and the readiness of his^ 
repartees, prevent one's ear being cloyed by too 
much sweets, and one cannot ' die of a rose in 
aromatic pain ' with Moore, though he does 
speak roses, there is such an endless variety in his 
conversation. Moore is the only poet," continued 
Byron, " whose conversation equals his writings ; 
he comes into society with a mind as fresh and 
buoyant as if he had not expended such a multi- 
plicity of thoughts on paper ; and leaves behind 
him an impression that he possesses an inex- 
haustible mine equally brilliant as the specimens 
he has given us. Will you, after this frank con- 
fession of my opinion of your countryman, ever 



1/ 



252 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

accuse me of injustice again? You see I can 
render justice when I am not forced into its op- 
posite extreme by hearing people overpraised, 
which always awakes the sleeping devil in my 
nature, as witness the desperate attack I gave 
your friend Lord the other day, merely be- 
cause you all wanted to make me believe he was 
a model, which he is not ; though I admit he is 
not all or half that which I accused him of being. 
Had you dispraised, probably I should have de- 
fended him." 

" I will give you some stanzas I wrote yester- 
day," said Byron, "they are as simple as even 
Wordsworth himself could write, and would do 
for music." 

The following are the lines : — 



TO 



But once I dared to lift my eyes — 

To lift my eyes to thee ; 
And since that day, beneath the skies, 

No other sight they see. 

In vain sleep shuts them in the night — 
The night grows day to me ; 

Presenting idly to my sight 
What still a dream must be. 

A fatal dream — for many a bar 
Divides thy fate from mine; 

And still my passions wake and war, 
But peace be still with thine. 



WITH LOED BYRON. 253 

" No one writes songs like Moore," said Byron. 
" Sentiment and imagination are joined to the 
most harmonious versification, and I know no 
greater treat than to hear him sing his own com- 
positions; the powerful expression he gives to 
them, and the pathos of the tones of his voice, 
tend to produce an effect on my feelings that 

no other songs, or singer, ever could. 

used to write pretty songs, and certainly has 
talent, but I maintain there is more poesy in her 
prose, at least more fiction, than is to be met 
with in a folio of poetry. You look shocked at 
what you think my ingratitude towards her, but 
if you knew half the cause I have to dislike her, 
you would not condemn me. You shall, however, 
know some parts of that serio-comic drama, in 
which I was forced to play a part, and, if you 
listen with candor, you must allow I was more 
sinned against than sinning." 

The curious history that followed this preface 
is not intended for the public eye, as it contains 
anecdotes and statements that are calculated to 
give pain to several individuals- — the same feeling 
that dictates the suppression of this most curious 
episode in Byron's London life, has led to the 
suppression of many other piquant and amusing 
disclosures made by him, as well as some of the 
most severe poetical portraits that ever were 



254 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

drawn of some of his supposed friends, and many 
of his acquaintances. The vigor with which 
they are sketched proves that he entered into 
every fold of the characters of the originals, and 
that he painted them con amore, but he could not 
be accused of being a flattering portrait painter. 

The disclosures made by Byron could never be 
considered confidential, because they were always 
at the service of the first listener who fell in his 
way, and who happened to know any thing of 
the parties he talked of. They were not confided 
with any injunction to secrecy, but were indis- 
criminately made to his chance companions — nay, 
he often declared his decided intention of writing 
copious notes to the Life he had given to his 
friend Moore, in which the whole truth should be 
declared of, for, and against, himself and others. 

Talking of this gift to Mr. Moore, he asked me 
if it had made a great sensation in London, 
and whether people were not greatly alarmed at 
the thoughts of being shown up in it ? He 
seemed much pleased in anticipating the panic it 
would occasion, naming all the persons who 
would be most alarmed. 

I told him that he had rendered the most 
essential service to the cause of morality by his 
confessions, as a dread of similar disclosures 
would operate in putting people on their guard 



WITH LOKD BYKON. 255 

in reposing dangerous confidence in men, than all 
the homilies that ever were written ; and that 
people would in future be warned by the phrase 
of " beware of being Byroned" instead of the old 
cautions used in past times. " This," continued 
I, "is a sad antithesis to your motto of Crede 
Byron? He appeared vexed at my observations, 
and it struck me that he seemed uneasy and out 
of humor for the next half-hour of our ride. I 
told him that his gift to Moore had suggested to 
me the following lines : — 

The ancients were famed for their friendship, we're told, 
Witness Damon and Pythias, and others of old; 
But, Byron, 'twas thine friendship's power to extend, 
Who surrender' d thy Life for the sake of a friend. 

He laughed heartily at the lines, and, in laugh- 
ing at them, recovered his good-humor. 

" I have never," said Byron, " succeeded to my 
satisfaction in an epigram ; my attempts have 
not been happy, and knowing Greek as I do, and 
admiring the Greek epigrams, which excel all 
others, it is mortifying that I have not succeeded 
better, but I begin to think that epigrams demand 
a peculiar talent, and that talent I decidedly have 
not. One of the best in the English language 

is that of Rogers on , it has the true Greek 

talent of expressing by implication what is wished 
to be conveyed. 



256 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



has no heart they say, but I deny it : 

He has a heart — he gets his speeches by it. 

This is the ne plus ultra of English epigrams" 
I told Byron that I had copied Rogers's thought, 
in two lines on an acquaintance of mine as fol- 
lows : — 

The charming Mary has no mind they say; 
I prove she has — it changes every day. 

This amused him, and he repeated several epi- 
grams, very clever, but which are too severe to be 
given in these pages. The epigrams of Byron 
are certainly not equal to his other poetry, they 
are merely clever, and such as any person of 
talent might have written, but who except him, 
in our day, could have written Childe Harold? 
No one, for admitting that the same talent exists, 
(which I am by no means prepared to admit) the 
possessor must have experienced the same des- 
tiny, to have brought it to the same perfection. 
The reverses that nature and circumstance en- 
tailed on Byron served but to give a higher polish 
and a finer temper to his genius. All that marred 
the perfectibility of the man, had perfected the 
poet, and this must have been evident to those 
who approached him, though it had escaped his 
own observation. Had the choice been left him, 
I am quite sure he would not have hesitated a 
moment in choosing between the renown of the 



WITH LORD BYRON. 257 

poet, even at the price of the happiness of the 
man, as he lived much more in the future than in 
the present, as do all persons of genius. As it 
was, he felt dissatisfied with his position, without 
feeling that it was the whetstone that sharpened 
his powers ; for with all his affected philosophy, 
he was a philosopher but in theory, and never re- 
duced it to practice. One of the strangest anom- 
alies in Byron was the exquisite taste displayed 
in his descriptive poetry, and the total want of it 
that was so visible in his modes of life. Fine 
scenery seemed to produce little effect on his feel- 
ings, though his descriptions are so glowing, and 
the elegances and comforts of refined life he ap- 
peared to as little understand as value. This last 
did not arise from a contempt of them, as might 
be imagined, but from an ignorance of what con- 
stituted them. I have seen him apparently de- 
lighted with the luxurious inventions in furniture, 
equipages, plate, &c, common to all persons of a 
certain station or fortune, and yet after an inquiry 
as to their prices — an inquiry so seldom made by 
persons of his rank, shrink back alarmed at the 
thought of the expense, though there was nothing 
alarming in it, and congratulate himself that he 
had no such luxuries, or did not require them. I 
should say that a bad and vulgar taste predomi- 
nated in all Byron's equipments, whether in dress 
17 



258 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

or in furniture. I saw his bed at Genoa, when I 
passed through in 1826, and it certainly was the 
most gaudily vulgar thing I ever saw ; the cur- 
tains in the worst taste, and the cornice having 
his family motto of " Crede Byron " surmounted 
by baronial coronets. His carriages and his 
liveries were in the same bad taste, having an 
affectation of finery, but mesquin in the details, 
and tawdry in the ensemble ; and it was evident 
that he piqued himself on them, by the compla- 
cency with which they were referred to. These 
trifles are touched upon, as being characteristic 
of the man, and would have been passed by, as 
unworthy of notice, had he not shown that they 
occupied a considerable portion of his attention. 
He has even asked us if they were not rich and 
handsome, and then remarked that no wonder 
they were so, as they cost him a great deal of 
money. At such moments it was difficult to re- 
member that one was speaking to the author of 
Childe Harold. If the poet was often forgotten 
in the levities of the man, the next moment some 
original observation, cutting repartee, or fanciful 
simile, reminded one that he who could be ordi- 
nary in trifles, (the only points of assimilation be- 
tween him and the common herd of men,) was 
only ordinary when he descended to their level, 
but when once on subjects worthy his attention, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 259 

the great poet shone forth, and they who had felt 
self-complacency at noting the futilities that had 
lessened the distance between him and them, 
were forced to see the immeasurable space which 
separated them, when he allowed his genius to 
be seen. It is ■ only Byron's preeminence as a 
poet that can give interest to such details as the 
writer has entered into, if they are written with- 
out partiality, they are also given in no unfriendly 
spirit ; but his defects are noted with the same 
feeling with which an astronomer would remark 
the specks that are visible even in the brightest 
stars, and which having examined more minutely 
than the common observers, he wishes to give the 
advantages of his discoveries, though the specks 
he describes have not made him overlook the 
brightness of the luminaries they sullied, but 
could not obscure. 

" You know of course," said Byron, " every 

one does, I hope you don't like him ; water and 
oil are not more anti-pathetic than he and I are 
to each other. I admit that his abilities are great, 
they are of the very first order; but he has that 
which almost always accompanies great talents, 
and generally proves a counter-balance to them — - 
an overweening ambition, which renders him not 
over-nice about the means, as long as he attains 
the end; and this facility will prevent his ever 



260 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

being a truly great man, though it may abridge 
his road to what is considered greatness — official 
dignity. You shall see some verses in which I 
have not spared him, and yet I have only said 
what I believe to be strictly correct. Poets are 
said to succeed best in fiction ; but this I deny, 
at least I always write best when truth inspires 
me, and my satires, which are founded on truth, 
have more spirit than all my other productions, 
for they were written con amove. My intimacy 

with the family," continued Byron, " let me 

into many of 's secrets, and they did not 

raise him in my estimation. 

" One of the few persons in London, whose 
society served to correct my predisposition to 
misanthropy, was Lord Holland. There is more 
benignity, and a greater share of the milk of 
human kindness in his nature than in that of any 

man I know, always excepting Lord B . 

Then there is such a charm in his manners, his 
mind is so highly cultivated, his conversation so 
agreeable, and his temper so equal and bland, 
that he never fails to send away his guests con- 
tent with themselves and delighted with him. I 
never," continued Byron, "heard a difference of 
opinion about Lord Holland, and I am sure no 
one could know him without liking him. Lord 
Erskine, in talking to me of Lord Holland, ob- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 261 

served, that it was his extreme good nature alone 
that prevented his taking as high a political posi- 
tion as his talents entitled him to fill. This 
quality," continued Byron, "will never prevent 

's rising in the world ; so that his talents 

will have a fair chance. 

" It is difficult," said Byron, " when one detests 
an author not to detest his works. There are 
some that I dislike so cordially, that I am aware 
of my incompetency to give an impartial opinion 
of their writings. South ey, po,r exemple, is one 
of these. When travelling in Italy, he was re- 
ported to me as having circulated some reports 
much to my disadvantage, and still more to that 
of two ladies of my acquaintance ; all of which, 
through the kind medium of some good-natured 
friends, were brought to my ears ; and I have 
vowed eternal vengeance against him, and all 
who uphold him ; which vengeance has been 
poured forth, in phials of wrath, in the shape of 
epigrams and lampoons, some of which you shall 
see. When any one attacks me, on the spur of 
the moment I sit down and write all the mechan- 
cete that comes into my head ; and, as some of 
these sallies have merit, they amuse me, and are 
too good to be torn or burned, and so are kept, 
and see the light long after the feeling that dic- 
tated them has subsided. All my malice evapo- 



~A 



262 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

rates in the effusions of my pen ; but I dare say 
those that excite it would prefer any other mode 
of vengeance. At Pisa, a friend told me that 
Walter Savage Landor had declared he either 
would not, or could not, read my works. I asked 
my officious friend if he was sure which it was 
that Landor said, as the would not was not offen- 
sive, and the could not was highly so. After some 
reflection, he, of course en ami, chose the most 
disagreeable signification ; and I marked down 
Landor in the tablet of memory as a person to 
whom a coup-de-pat must be given in my forth- 
coming work, though he really is a man whose 
brilliant talents and profound erudition I cannot 
help admiring as much as I respect his character 
— various proofs of the generosity, manliness, and 
independence of which has reached me; so you 
see I can render justice (en petite comite) even to 
a man who says he could not read my works; 
this, at least, shows some good feeling, if the petit 
vengeance of attacking him in my work cannot 
be defended ; but my attacking proves the truth 
of the observation made by a French writer — that 
we don't like people for the merit we discover in 
them, but for that which they find in us." 

When Byron was one day abusing most 

vehemently, we accused him of undue severity ; 
and he replied, he was only deterred from treat- 



WITH LOUD BYRON. 263 

ing him much more severely by the fear of being 
indicted under the Act of cruelty to Animals ! 

"■ I am quite sure," said Byron, " that many of 
our worst actions and our worst thoughts are 
caused by friends. An enemy can never do as 
much injury or cause as much pain ; if he speaks 
ill of one, it is set down as an exaggeration of 
malice, and therefore does little harm, and he 
has no opportunity of telling one any of the dis- 
agreeable things that are said in one's absence ; 
but a friend has such an amiable candor in 
admitting the faults least known, and often un- 
suspected, and of denying or defending with 
acharnement those that can neither be denied 
nor defended, that he is sure to do one mis- 
chief. Then he thinks himself bound to retail 
and detail every disagreeable remark or story he 
hears, and generally under the injunction of se- 
crecy ; so that one is tormented without the 
power of bringing the slanderer to account, unless 
by a breach of confidence. I am always tempted 
to exclaim, with Socrates, * My friend ! there are 
no friends ! ' when I hear and see the advantages 
of friendship. It is odd," continued Byron, " that 
people do not seem aware that the person who 
repeats to a friend an offensive observation, ut- 
tered when he was absent, without any idea that 
he was likely to hear it, is much more blamable 



264 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

than the person who originally said it ; of course 
I except a friend who hears a charge brought 
against one's honor, and who comes and openly 
states what he has heard, that it may be refuted ; 
but this friends seldom do ; for, as that Queen of 
egotists, La Marquis du Deffand, truly observed — 
' Ceux qu'on nomme amis sont ceux par qui on 
n'a pas a craindre d'etre assassine, mais qui lais- 
seroient faire les assassins.' Friends are like dia- 
monds ; all wish to possess them ; but few can or 
will pay their price ; and there never was more 
wisdom embodied in a phrase than in that which 
says — ' Defend me from my friends, and I will 
defend myself from my enemies.' " 

Talking of poetry, Byron said that, " next to the 
affected simplicity of the Lake School, he disliked 
prettiness, or what are called flowers of poetry ; 
they are only admissible in the poetry of ladies," 
said he, "which should always have a sprinkling 
of dew-gemmed leaves and flowers of rainbow 
hues, with tuneful birds and gorgeous butter- 
flies — " Here he laughed like a child, and added, 
"I suppose you would never forgive me if I 
finished the sentence — sweet emblems of fair 
woman's looks and mind." Having joined in 
the laugh, which was irresistible from the mock 
heroic air he assumed, I asked him how he could 
prove any resemblance between tuneful birds, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 265 

gorgeous butterflies, and woman's face or mind. 
He immediately replied, " Have I not printed a 
certain line, in which I say, ' the music breathing 
from her face ! ' and do not all, even philosophers, 
assert, that there is harmony in beauty, nay, that 
there is no beauty without it? Now tuneful birds 
are musical ; ergo, that simile holds good as far as 
the face, and the butterfly must stand for the 
mind, brilliant, light, and wandering. I say noth- 
ing of its being the emblem of the soul, because 
I have not quite made up my mind that women 
have souls; but, in short, flowers and all that is 
fragile and beautiful, must remind one of women. 
So do not be offended with my comparison. 

"But to return to the subject," continued 
Byron, " you do not, cannot like what are called 
flowers in poetry. I try to avoid them as much 
as possible in mine, and I hope you think that I 
have succeeded." I answered that he had given 
oaks to Parnassus instead of flowers, and while 
disclaiming the compliment it seemed to gratify 
him. 

" A successful work," said Byron, " makes a 
man a wretch for life : it engenders in him a thirst 
for notoriety and praise, tljat precludes the possi- 
bility of repose; this spurs him on to attempt 
others, which are always expected to be superior 
to the first; hence arises disappointment, as ex- 



266 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

pectation being too much excited is rarely grati- 
fied, and, in the present day, one failure is placed 
as a counterbalance to fifty successful efforts. 
Voltaire was right," continued Byron, " when he 
said that the fate of a literary man resembled that 
of the flying-fish ; if he dives in the water the fish 
devour him, and if he rises in the air he is at- 
tacked by the birds. Voltaire," continued Byron, 
" had personal experience of the persecution a 
successful author must undergo; but malgre all 
this, he continued to keep alive the sensation he 
had excited in the literary world, and, while at 
Ferney, thought only of astonishing Paris. Mon- 
tesquieu has said 'that moins on pense plus on 
parle.' Voltaire was a proof, indeed I have known 
many," said Byron, "of the falseness of this ob- 
servation, for who ever wrote or talked as much 
as Voltaire? But Montesquieu, when he wrote 
his remark, thought not of literary men ; he was 
thinking of the bavards of society, who certainly 
think less and talk more than all others. I was 
once very much amused," said Byron, " by over- 
hearing the conversation of two country ladies, in 
company with a celebrated author, who happened 
to be that evening very taciturn : one remarked 
to the other, how strange it was that a person 
reckoned so clever, should be so silent! and the 
other answered, Oh ! he has nothing left to say, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 267 

he has sold all his thoughts to his publishers. 
This you will allow was a philosophical way 
of explaining the silence of an author. 

" One of the things that most annoyed me in 
London," said Byron, " was the being continually 
asked to give my opinion on the works of con- 
temporaries. I got out of the difficulty as well 
as I could, by some equivocal answer that might 
be taken in two ways ; but even this prudence did 
not save me, and I have been accused of envy and 
jealousy of authors, of whose works, God knows, 
I was far from being envious. I have also been 
suspected of jealousy towards ancient as well as 
modern writers ; but Pope, whose poems I really 
envy, and whose works I admire, perhaps more 
than any living or dead English writer, they have 
never found out that I was jealous of, nay, prob- 
ably, as I always praise him, they suppose I do 
not seriously admire him, as insincerity on all 
points is universally attributed to me. 

" I have often thought of writing a book to be 
filled with all the charges brought against me in 
England," said Byron; "it would make an inter- 
esting folio, with my notes, and might serve pos- 
terity as a proof of the charity, good-nature, and 
candor of Christian England in the nineteenth 
century. Our laws are bound to think a man in- 
nocent until he is proved to be guilty ; but our 



268 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

English society condemn him before trial, which 
is a summary proceeding that saves trouble. 

" However, I must say," continued Byron, "that 
it is only those to whom any superiority is ac- 
corded, that are prejudged or treated with undue 
severity in London, for mediocrity meets with the 
utmost indulgence, on the principle of sympathy, 
' a fellow-feeling makes them wondrous kind.' 
The moment my wife left me, I was assailed by 
all the falsehoods that malice could invent or 
slander publish ; how many wives have since left 
their husbands, and husbands their wives, without 
either of the parties being blackened by defama- 
tion, the public having the sense to perceive that 
a husband and wife's living together or separate 
can only concern the parties, or their immediate 
families! but in my case, no sooner did Lady By- 
ron take herself off, than my character went off ; 
or rather was carried off, not by force of arms, but 
by force of tongues and pens too ; and there was 
no crime too dark to be attributed to me by the 
moral English, to account for so very common an 
occurrence as a separation in high life. I was 
thought a devil, because Lady Byron was allowed 
to be an angel, and that it formed a pretty antith- 
esis ; mais helas ! there are neither angels nor de- 
vils on earth, though some of one's acquaintance 
might tempt one into the belief of the existence 



WITH LORD BYKON. 269 

of the latter. After twenty, it is difficult to be- 
lieve in that of the former, though the first and 
last object of one's affection has some of its attri- 
butes. Imagination," said Byron, "resembles hope 
— when unclouded, it gilds all that it touches with 
its own bright hue ; mine makes me see beauty 
wherever youth and health have impressed their 
stamp ; and after all I am not very far from the 
goddess, when I am with her handmaids, for such 
they certainly are. Sentimentalists may despise 
'buxom health, with rosy hue,' which has some- 
thing dairymaid like, I confess, in the sound," con- 
tinued he — "for buxom, however one may like the 
reality, is not euphonious, but I have the associa- 
tion of plumpness, rosy hue, good spirits, and 
good humor, all brought before me in the homely 
phrase ; and all these united give me a better idea 
of beauty than lanky languor, sicklied o'er with 
the pale cast of thought ; and bad health, and bad 
humor, which are synonymous, making to-morrow 
cheerless as to-day. Then see some of our fine 
ladies, whose nerves are more active than their 
brains, who talk sentiment, and ask you to ' ad- 
minister to a mind diseased, and pluck from the 
memory a rooted sorrow,' when it is the body that 
is diseased, and the rooted sorrow is some chronic 
malady ; these, I own," continued Byron, " alarm 
me, and a delicate woman, however prettily it 



270 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

may sound, harrows up my feelings with a host 
of shadowy ills to come, of vapors, hysterics, 
nerves, megrims, intermitting fevers, and all the 
ills that wait upon poor weak women, who, when 
sickly are generally weak in more senses than one. 
The best dower a woman can bring is health and 
good humor ; the latter, whatever we may say of 
the triumphs of mind, depends on the former, as 
according to the old poem — 

Temper ever waits on health, 
As luxury depends on wealth. 

But mind," said Byron, "when I object to deli- 
cate women, that is to say, to women of delicate 
health, alias sickly, I don't mean to say that I 
like coarse, fat ladies, d la Rubens, whose minds 
must be impenetrable, from the mass of matter 
in which they are incased. No ! I like an ac- 
tive and healthy mind, in an active and healthy 
person, each extending its beneficial influence 
over the other, and maintaining their equili- 
brium ; the body illumined by the light within, 
but that light not let out by any ; chinks made 
by time ; ' in short, I like, as who does not," con- 
tinued Byron, " a handsome, healthy woman, with 
an intelligent and intelligible mind, who can do 
something more than what it is said a French 
woman can only do, habille, babille, and disha- 
bille, who is not obliged to have recourse to 



WITH LORD BYRON. 271 

dress, shopping, and visits, to get through a day, 
and soirees, operas, and flirting, to pass an even- 
ing. You see I am moderate in my desires ; I 
only wish for perfection. 

" There was a time," said Byron, " when fame 
appeared the most desirable of all acquisitions to 
me ; it was my c being's end and aim ; ' but now 
— how worthless does it appear ! Alas ! how true 
are the lines — 

La Nominanza e" color d'erba, 
Che viene e va; e quei la discolora 
Per cui vien fuori della terra acerba. 

And dearly is fame bought, as we all have found, 
who have acquired even a small portion of it — 

Che seggendo in piuma 

In Fama non si vien, ne sotto coltre. 

No ! with sleepless nights, excited nerves, and 
morbid feelings, is fame purchased, and envy, ha- 
tred, and jealousy follow the luckless possessor. 

ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova? 
Tutti tornate alia gran madre antica, 
E il vostro nome appena si ritrova. . 

, how often has a tomb been denied to those 

se names have immortalized their country, or 

granted when shame compelled the tardy 

ice ! Yet, after all, fame is but like all other 

mits, ending in disappointment — its worthless- 

s only discovered when attained, and 



272 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Sensa la qual chi sua vita consuma 

Cotal vestigio in terra di se lascia 

Qual fummo in aere, ed in acqua la schiuma. 

" People complain of the brevity of life," said 
Byron ; " should they not rather complain of its 
length, as its enjoyments cease long before the 
half-way house of life is passed, unless one has 
the luck to die young, ere the illusions that ren- 
der existence supportable have faded away, and 
are replaced by experience, that dull monitress, 
that ever comes too late ? While youth steers 
the bark of life, and passion impels her on, expe- 
rience keeps aloof; but when youth and passion 
are fled, and that we no longer require her aid, 
she comes to reproach us with the past, to disgust 
us with the present, and alarm us with the fu- 
ture. 

" We buy wisdom with happiness, and who 
would purchase it at such a price ? To be happy, 
we must forget the past, and think not of the 
future ; and who that has a soul, or mind, can 
do this ? No one," continued Byron, " and this 
proves, that those who have either, know no hap- 
piness on this earth. Memory precludes happi- 
ness, whatever Rogers may say to the contrary ; 
for it borrows from the past, to embitter the pres- 
ent, bringing back to us all the grief that has 
most wounded, or the happiness that has most 



WITH LOED BYRON. 273 

charmed us; the first leaving its sting, and of the 
second — 

Nesson maggior dolore 

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice, 

Nulla miseria. 

Let us look back," continued Byron, " to those 
days of grief, the recollection of which now 
pains us, and we shall find that time has only 
cicatrized, but not effaced the scars ; and if we 
reflect on the happiness that, seen through the 
vista of the past, seems now so bright, memory 
will tell us that, at the actual time referred to, 
we were far from thinking so highly of it ; nay — 
that, at that very period, we were obliged to draw 
drafts on the future, to support the then present, 
though now that epoch, tinged by the rays of 
memory, seems so brilliant, and renders the pres- 
ent more sombre by contrast. We are so consti- 
tuted," said Byron, " that we know not the value 
of our possessions until we have lost them. Let 
us think of the friends that death has snatched 
from us, whose loss has left aching voids in the 
heart never again to be filled up ; and memory 
will tell us, that we prized not their presence 
while we were blessed with it, though, could the 
grave give them back, now that we had learned 
to estimate their value, all else could be borne, 
and we believe (because it is impossible) that 

18 



274 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

happiness might once more be ours. We should 
live with our friends," said Byron, "not as the 
worldly-minded philosopher says, as though they 
may one day become our enemies, but as though 
we may one day lose them ; and this maxim, 
strictly followed, will not only render our lives 
happier while together, but will save the sur- 
vivors from those bitter pangs that memory con- 
jures up, of slights and unkindnesses offered to 
those we have lost, when too late for atonement, 
and arms remorse with double force because it is 
too late." It was in such conversations that 
Byron was seen in his natural character ; the 
feeling, the tenderness of his nature, shone forth 
at such moments ; and his natural character, 
like the diamond, when breathed upon, though 
dimmed for a time, soon recovered its purity and 
showed its original lustre, perhaps the more for 
having been for a moment obscured. 

How much has Byron to unlearn ere he can 
hope for peace ! Then, he is proud of his false 
knowledge. I call it false, because it neither 
makes him better nor happier; and true knowl- 
edge ought to do the former, though I admit it 
cannot the latter. We are not relieved by the 
certainty that we have an incurable disease ; on 
the contrary, we cease to apply remedies, and 
so let the evil increase. So it is with human 



WITH LOKD BYRON. 275 

nature ; by believing ourselves devoted to selfish- 
ness, we supinely sink into its withering and in- 
glorious thraldom ; when, by encouraging kindly 
affections, without analyzing their source, we 
strengthen and fix them in the heart, and find 
their genial influence extending around, contrib- 
uting to the happiness and well-being of others, 
and reflecting back some portion to ourselves. 
Byron's heart is running to waste, for want of 
being allowed to expend itself on his fellow- 
creatures ; it is naturally capacious, and teeming 
with affection ; but the worldly wisdom he has 
acquired has checked its course, and it preys on 
his own happiness, by reminding him continually 
of the aching void in his breast. With a con- 
temptible opinion of human nature, he requires 
a perfectability in the persons to whom he at- 
taches himself, that those who think most highly 
of it never expect ; he gets easily disgusted, and 
when once the persons fall short of his expecta- 
tions, his feelings are thrown back on himself, 
and, in their reaction, create new bitterness. I 
have remarked to Byron, that it strikes me as a 
curious anomaly that he, who thinks ill of man- 
kind, should require more from it than do those 
who think well of it en masse; and that each 
new disappointment at discovery of baseness 
sends him back to solitude, with some of the 



276 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

feelings with which a savage creature would seek 
its lair; while those who judge it more favor- 
ably, instead of feeling bitterness at the disap- 
pointments we must all experience, more or less, 
when we have the weakness to depend wholly 
on others for happiness, smile at their own delu- 
sion, and blot out, as with a sponge, from mem- 
ory that such things were, and were most sweet 
while we believed them, and open a fresh ac- 
count, a new leaf in the leger of life, always 
indulging in the hope that it may not be bal- 
anced like the last. We should judge others not 
by self, for that is deceptive, but by their general 
conduct and character. We rarely do this ; be- 
cause that with le besoin d'aimer, which all ardent 
minds have, we bestow our affections on the first 
person that chance throws in our path, and en- 
dow them with every good and noble quality, 
which qualities were unknown to them, and only 
existed in our own imaginations. We discover, 
when too late, our own want of discrimination ; 
but, instead of blaming ourselves, we throw the 
whole censure on those whom we had over- 
rated, and declare war against the whole species, 
because we had chosen ill, and " loved not wisely, 
but too well." When such disappointments oc- 
cur — and, alas ! they are so frequent as to inure 
us to them — if we were to reflect on all the ante- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 277 

cedent conduct and modes of thinking of those 
in whom we had "garnered up our hearts," we 
should find that they were in general consistent, 
and that ive had indulged erroneous expectations, 
from having formed too high an estimate of them, 
and, consequently, were disappointed. 

A modern writer has happily observed, that 
" the sourest disappointments are made out of 
our sweetest hopes, as the most excellent vinegar 
is made from damaged wine." We have all 
proved that hope ends but in frustration ; but 
this should only give us a more humble opinion 
of our own powers of discrimination, instead of 
making us think ill of human nature ; we may 
believe that goodness, disinterestedness, and affec- 
tion exist in the world, although we have not had 
the good fortune to encounter them in the per- 
sons on whom we had lavished our regard. This 
is the best, because it is the safest and most con- 
solatory philosophy ; it prevents our thinking ill 
of our species, and precludes that corroding of 
our feelings which is the inevitable result ; for, as 
we all belong to the family of human nature, we 
cannot think ill of it without deteriorating our 
own. If we have had the misfortune to meet 
with some persons whose ingratitude and base- 
ness might serve to lower our opinion of our 
fellow-creatures, have we not encountered others 



278 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

whose nobleness, generosity, and truth might re- 
deem them ? A few such examples— nay, one 
alone — such as I have the happiness to know, 
has taught me to judge favorably of mankind ; 
and Byron, with all his skepticism as to the 
perfectibility of human nature, allowed that the 
person to whom I allude was an exception to the 
rule of the belief he had formed, as to the selfish- 
ness or worldly-mindedness being the spring of 
action in man. 

The grave has closed over him who shook By- 
ron's skepticism in perfect goodness, and estab- 
lished forever my implicit faith in it ; but, in the 
debts of gratitude, engraved in deep characters 
on memory, the impression his virtues has given 
me of human nature is indelibly registered — an 
impression of which his conduct was the hap- 
piest illustration, as the recollection of it must 
ever be the antidote to misanthropy. We have 
need of such examples, to reconcile us to the 
heartless ingratitude that all have, in a greater or 
less degree, been exposed to, and which is so cal- 
culated to disgust us with our species. How, 
then, must the heart reverence the memory of 
those who, in life, spread the shield of their good- 
ness between us and sorrow and evil, and, even 
in death, have left us the hallowed recollection of 
their virtues, to enable us to think well of our 
fellow-creatures ! 



WITH LOED BYRON. 279 

Of the rich legacies the dying leave, 
Remembrance of their virtues is the best. 

We are as posterity to those who have gone 
before us — the avant-coureurs on that journey- 
that we must all undertake. It is permitted us 
to speak of absent friends with the honest warmth 
of commendatory truth ; then, surely, we may 
claim that privilege for the dead — a privilege 
which every grateful heart must pant to establish, 
when the just tribute we pay to departed worth 
is but as the outpourings of a spirit that is over- 
powered by its own intensity, and whose praise 
or blame falls equally unregarded on " the dull 
cold ear of death," They who are in the grave 
cannot be flattered ; and if their qualities were 
such as escaped the observance of the public eye, 
are not those who, in the shade of domestic 
privacy, had opportunities of appreciating them, 
entitled to one of the few consolations left to sur- 
vivors — that of offering the homage of admiration 
and praise to virtues that were beyond all praise, 
and goodness that, while in existence, proved a 
source of happiness, and, in death, a consolation, 
by the assurance they have given of meeting their 
reward ! 

Byron said to-day that he had met, in a French 
writer, an idea that had amused hirn very much, 
and that he thought had as much truth as origi- 



> 



280 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

nality in it. He quoted the passage : " La curio- 
site est suicide de s& nature, et l'amour n'est que 
la curiosite." He laughed, and rubbed his hands, 
and repeated : " Yes, the Frenchman is right. 
Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, 
as is proved by its end." 

I told Byron that it was in vain that he affected 
to believe what he repeated, as I thought too well 
of him to imagine him to be serious. 

"At all events," said Byron, " you must admit 
that, of all passions, love is the most selfish. It 
begins, continues, and ends in selfishness. Who 
ever thinks of the happiness of the object apart 
from his own, or who attends to it ? While the 
passion continues, the lover wishes the object of 
his attachment happy, because, were she visibly 
otherwise, it would detract from his own pleas- 
ures. The French writer understood mankind 
well, who said that they resembled the Grand 
Turk in an opera, who, quitting his sultana for 
another, replied to her tears, ' Dissimulez votre 
peine, et respectez mes plaisirs.' This," con- 
tinued Byron, " is but too true a satire on men ; 
for, when love is over, 

A few years older, 
Ah ! how much colder 
He could behold her 
For whom, he sigh'd ! 

" Depend on it my doggrel rhymes have more 



WITH LOED BYRON. 281 

truth than most that I have written. I have been 
told that love never exists without jealousy ; if 
this be true, it proves that love must be founded 
on selfishness, for jealousy surely never proceeds 
from any other feeling than selfishness. We see 
that the person we like is pleased and happy in 
the society of some one else, and we prefer to see 
her unhappy with us, than to allow her to enjoy 
it ; is not this selfish ? Why is it," continued 
Byron, " that lovers are at first only happy in 
each other's society ? It is, that their mutual 
flattery and egotism gratify their vanity; and, 
not finding this stimulus elsewhere, they become 
dependent on each other for it. When they 
get better acquainted, and have exhausted all 
their compliments, without the power of creating 
or feeling any new illusions, or even continuing 
the old, they no longer seek each other's pres- 
ence from preference ; habit alone draws them 
together, and they drag on a chain that is tire- 
some to both, but which often neither has the 
courage to break. We have all a certain portion 
of love in our natures, which portion we inva- 
riably bestow on the object that most charms us, 
which, as invariably is, self; and though some 
degree of love may be extended to another, it is 
only because that other administers to our van- 
ity ; and the sentiment is but a reaction — a sort 



282 JOUENAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

of electricity that emits the sparks with which we 
are charged to another body ; — and when the re- 
torts lose their power — which means, in plain 
sense, when the flattery of the recipient no longer 
gratifies us — and yawning, that fearful abyss in 
love, is visible, the passion is over. Depend on 
it," continued Byron, " the only love that never 
changes its object is self-love; and the disappoint- 
ments it meets with make a more lasting impres- 
sion than all others." 

I told Byron that I expected him to-morrow to 
disprove every word he had uttered to-day. He 
laughed, and declared that his profession of faith 
was contained in the verses, " Could love for 
ever ; " that he wished he could think otherwise, 
but so it was. 

Byron affects skepticism in love and friendship, 
and yet is, I am persuaded, capable of making 
great sacrifices for both. He has an unaccount- 
able passion for misrepresenting his own feelings 
and motives, and exaggerates his defects more 
than any enemy could do ; he is often angry, be- 
cause we do not believe all he says against him- 
self, and would be, I am sure, delighted to meet 
some one credulous enough to give credence to 
all he asserts or insinuates with regard to his own 
misdoings. 

If Byron were not a great poet, the charlatan- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 283 

ism of affecting to be a Satanic character, in this 
our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, would be 
very amusing ; but, when the genius of the man 
is taken into account, it appears too ridiculous, 
and one feels mortified at rinding that he, who 
could elevate the thoughts of his readers to the 
empyrean, should fall below the ordinary stand- 
ard of every-day life, by a vain and futile attempt 
to pass for something that all who know him 
rejoice that he is not ; while, by his sublime gen- 
ius and real goodness of heart, which are made 
visible every day, he establishes claims on the 
admiration and sympathy of mankind that few 
can resist. If he knew his own power, he would 
disdain such unworthy means of attracting atten- 
tion, and trust to his merit for commanding it. 

" I know not when I have been so much inter- 
ested and amused," said Byron, " as in the perusal 
of journal : it is one of the choicest pro- 
ductions I ever read, and is astonishing as being 
written by a minor, as I find he was under age 
when he penned it. The most piquant vein of 
pleasantry runs through it ; the ridicules — and 
they are many — of our dear compatriots are 
touched with the pencil of a master ; but what 
pleases me most is, that neither the reputation of 
man nor woman is compromised, nor any disclo- 
sures made that could give pain. He has admi- 



284 JOUENAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 

rably penetrated the secret of English ennui," 
continued Byron, " a secret that is one to the 
English only, as I defy any foreigner, blessed 
with a common share of intelligence to come 
in contact with them without discovering it. 
The English know that they are ennuyes, but 
vanity prevents their discovering that they are en- 
nuyeux, and they will be little disposed to pardon 
the person who enlightens them on this point. 

ought to publish this work," continued 

Byron, " for two reasons : the first, that it will be 
sure to get known that he has written a piquant 
journal, and people will imagine it to be a mali- 
cious libel, instead of being a playful satire, as 
the English are prone to fancy the worst, from a 
consciousness of not meriting much forbearance ; 
the second reason is, that the impartial view of 
their foibles, taken by a stranger who cannot be 
actuated by any of the little jealousies that influ- 
ence the members of their own coteries, might 
serve to correct them, though I fear reflexione 
faite, there is not much hope of this. It is an 
extraordinary anomaly," said Byron, " that peo- 
ple who are really naturally inclined to good, as I 
believe the English are, and who have the advan- 
tages of a better education than foreigners re- 
ceive, should practise more ill-nature, and display 
more heartlessness than the inhabitants of any 



WITH LOED BYRON. 285 

other country. This is all the effect of the artifi- 
cial state of society in England, and the exclusive 
system has increased the evils of it tenfold. We 
accuse the French of frivolity," continued Byron, 
"because they are governed by fashion ; but this 
extends only to their dress, whereas the English 
allow it to govern their pursuits, habits, and 
modes of thinking and acting : in short, it is the 
Alpha and Omega of all they think, do, or will : 
their society, residences, nay, their very friends, 
are chosen by this criterion, and old and tried 
friends, wanting its stamp are voted de trop. 
Fashion admits women of more than dubious 
reputations, and well-born men with none, into 
circles where virtue and honor, not d la mode, 
might find it difficult to get placed; and if (on 
hearing the reputation of Lady This, or Mrs. 
That, or rather want of reputation, canvassed 
over by their associates) you ask why they are 
received, you will be told it is because they are 
seen everywhere — they are the fashion. — I have 
known," continued Byron, " men and women in 
London received in the first circles, who by their 
birth, talents, or manners, had no one claim to 
such a distinction, merely because they had been 
seen in one or two houses, to which, by some 
manoeuvring, they got the entree ; but I must add, 
they were not remarkable for good looks, or supe- 



286 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

riority in any way, for if they had been it would 
have elicited attention to their want of other 
claims, and closed the doors of fashion against 
them. I recollect," said Byron, " on my first en- 
tering fashionable life, being surprised at the (to 
me) unaccountable distinctions I saw made be- 
tween ladies placed in peculiar and precisely sim- 
ilar situations. I have asked some of the fair 
leaders of fashion, * Why do you exclude Lady 

, and admit Lady , as they are both in 

the same scrape ? ' With that amiable indiffer- 
ence to cause and effect that distinguishes the 
generality of your sex, the answer has invariably 

been, ' Oh ! we admit Lady because all our 

set receive her ; and exclude Lady because 

they will not.' I have pertinaciously demanded, 
' Well, but you allow their claims are equal ? ' 
and the reply has been, 4 Certainly ; and we be- 
lieve the excluded lady to be the better of the 
two.' Mais que voulez-vous ? she is not received, 
and the other is ; it is all chance or luck : and 
this," continued Byron, " is the state of society in 
London, and such the line of demarcation drawn 
between the pure and the impure, when chance 
or luck, as Lady honestly owned to me, de- 
cided whether a woman lost her caste or not. I 
am not much of a prude," said Byron, " but I de- 
clare that, for the general good, I think that all 



WITH LOED BYRON. 287 

women who had forfeited their reputations ought 
to lose their places in society ; but this rule ought 
never to admit of an exception : it becomes an 
injustice and hardship when it does, and loses all 
effect as a warning or preventive. I have known 
young married women, when cautioned by friends 
on the probability of losing caste by such or such 
a step, quote the examples of Lady This, or Mrs. 
That, who had been more imprudent, (for impru- 
dence is the new name for guilt in England,) and 
yet that one saw these ladies received every- 
where, and vain were precepts with such exam- 
ples. People may suppose," continued Byron, 
" that I respect not morals, because unfortunately 
I have sometimes violated them : perhaps from 
this very circumstance I respect them the more, 
as we never value riches until our prodigality has 
made us feel their loss ; and a lesson of prudence 
coming from him who had squandered thousands, 
would have more weight than whole pages writ- 
ten by one who had not personal experience : so 
I maintain that persons who have erred are most 
competent to point out errors. It is my respect 
for morals that makes me so indignant against 
its vile substitute cant, with which I wage war, 
and this the good-natured world chooses to con- 
sider as a sign of my wickedness. We are all 
the creatures of circumstance," continued Byron; 



288 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

"the greater part of our errors are caused, if not 
excused, by events and situations over which we 
have had little control ; the world see the faults, 
but they see not what led to them : therefore I 
am always lenient to crimes that have brought 
their own punishment, while I am a little dis- 
posed to pity those who think they atone for 
their own sins by exposing those of others, and 
add cant and hypocrisy to the catalogue of their 
vices. Let not a woman who has gone astray, 
without detection, affect to disdain a less fortunate 
though not more culpable, female. She who is 
unblemished should pity her who has fallen, and 
she whose conscience tells her she is not spotless 
should show forbearance ; but it enrages me to 
see women whose conduct is, or has been, infi- 
nitely more blamable than that of the persons 
they denounce, affecting a prudery towards others 
that they had not in the hour of need for them- 
selves. It was this forbearance towards her own 
sex that charmed me in Lady Melbourne : she 
had always some kind interpretation for every 
action that would admit of one, and pity or si- 
lence when aught else was impracticable. 

" Lady — — , beautiful and spotless herself, al- 
ways struck me as wanting that pity she could so 
well afford. Not that I ever thought her ill-na- 
tured or spiteful ; but I thought there was a cer- 






WITH LORD BYRON. 289 

tain severity in her demarcations, which her ac- 
knowledged purity rendered less necessary. Do 
you remember my lines in the Giaour, ending 
with — 

No : gayer insects fluttering by 

Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die; 

And lovelier things have mercy shown 

To every failing but their own; 

And every woe a tear can claim 

Except an erring sister's shame. 

" These lines were suggested by the conduct I 
witnessed in London from women to their erring 
acquaintances — a conduct that led me to draw 
the conclusion, that their hearts are formed of less 
penetrable stuff than those of men." 

Byron has not lived sufficiently long in Eng- 
land, and has left it at too young an age, to be 
able to form an impartial and just estimate of 
his compatriots. He was a busy actor, more than 
a spectator, in the circles which had given him an 
unfavorable impression ; and his own passions 
were, at that period, too much excited to permit 
his reason to be unbiassed in the opinions he 
formed. In his hatred of what he calls cant, and 
hypocrisy, he is apt to denounce as such all that 
has the air of severity ; and which, though often 
painful in individual cases, is, on the whole, salu- 
tary for the general good of society. This error 
of Byron's proceeds from a want of actual per- 

19 



290 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

sonal observation, for which opportunity has not 
been afforded him, as the brief period of his resi- 
dence in England, after he had arrived at an age 
to judge, and the active part he took in the scenes 
around him, allowed him not to acquire that per- 
fect knowledge of society, manners, and customs, 
which is necessary to correct the prejudices that 
a superficial acquaintance with it is apt to en- 
gender, even in the most acute observer, but to 
which a powerful imagination, prompt to jump at 
conclusions, without pausing to trace cause and 
efFect, is still more likely to fall into. Byron sees 
not that much of what he calls the usages of cant 
and hypocrisy are the fences that protect proprie- 
ty, and that they cannot be invaded without ex- 
posing what it is the interest of all to preserve. 
Had he been a calm looker-on, instead of an im- 
passioned actor in the drama of English fashion- 
able life, he would probably have taken a less 
harsh view of all that has so much excited his ire, 
and felt the necessity of many of the restraints 
which fettered him. 

A two years' residence in Greece, with all the 
freedom and personal independence that a desul- 
tory rambling life admits of and gives a taste for 
— in a country where civilization has so far retro- 
graded that its wholesome laws, as well as its 
refinement, have disappeared, leaving license to 



WITH LORD BYRON. 291 

usurp the place of liberty — was little calculated 
to prepare a young man of three-and-twenty for 
the conventional habits and restraints of that arti- 
ficial state of society which extreme civilization 
and refinement beget. No wonder then that it 
soon became irksome to him, and that, like the 
unbroken courser of Arabia, when taken from 
the deserts where he had sported in freedom, he 
spurned the puny meshes which ensnared him, 
and pined beneath the trammels that intercepted 
his liberty. 

Byron returned to England in his twenty-third 
year, and left it before he had completed his 
twenty-eighth, soured by disappointments and 
rendered reckless by a sense of injuries. " He 
who fears not is to be feared," says the proverb ; 
and Byron, wincing under all the obloquy which 
malice and envy could inflict, felt that its utmost 
malignity could go no farther, and became fixed 
in a fearless braving of public opinion, which a 
false spirit of vengeance led him to indulge in, 
turning the genius, that could have achieved the 
noblest ends, into the means of accomplishing 
those which were unworthy of it. His attacks 
on the world are like the war of the Titans 
against the gods — the weapons he aims fall back 
on himself. He feels that he has allowed senti- 
ments of pique to influence and deteriorate his 



292 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

works ; and that the sublime passages in them, 
which now appear like gleams of sunshine flit- 
ting across the clouds that sometimes obscure the 
bright luminary, might have one unbroken blaze 
of light, had not worldly resentment and feelings 
dimmed their lustre. 

This consciousness of misapplied genius has 
made itself felt in Byron, and will yet lead him 
to redeem the injustice he has done it ; and when 
he has won the guerdon of the world's applause, 
and satisfied that craving for celebrity which con- 
sumes him, reconciled to that world, and at peace 
with himself, he may yet win as much esteem for 
the man as he has hitherto elicited admiration for 
the poet. To satisfy Byron, the admiration must 
be unqualified ; and, as I have told him, this de- 
pends on himself: he has only to choose a subject 
for his muse, in which not only received opinions 
are not wounded, but morality is inculcated ; and 
his glowing genius, no longer tarnished by the 
stains that have previously blemished it, will shine 
forth with a splendor, and insure that universal 
applause, which will content even his ambitious 
and aspiring nature. He wants some one to tell 
him what he might do, what he ought to do, and 
what so doing he would become. I have told 
him : but I have not sufficient weight or influ- 
ence with him to make my representations effec- 



WITH LOKD BYRON. 293 

tive ; and the task would be delicate and difficult 
for a male friend to undertake, as Byron is perti- 
nacious in refusing to admit that his works have 
failed in morality, though in his heart I am sure 
he feels it. 

Talking of some one who was said to have 
fallen in love, " I suspect," said Byron, " that he 
must be indebted to your country for this phrase, 
< falling in love ; ' it is expressive and droll : they 
also say falling ill ; and, as both are involuntary, 
and in general, equally calamitous, the expres- 
sions please me. Of the two evils, the falling ill 
seems to be the least; at all events I would pre- 
fer it; for as, according to philosophers, pleasures 
consists in the absence of pain, the sensations of 
returning health (if one does recover) must be 
agreeable ; but the recovery from love is another 
affair, and resembles the awaking from an agree- 
able dream. Hearts are often only lent, when 
they are supposed to be given away," continued 
Byron; "and are the loans for which people 
exact the most usurious interest. When the debt 
is called in, the borrower, like all other debtors, 
feels little obligation to the lender, and, having 
refunded the principal, regrets the interest he has 
paid. You see," said Byron, " that, d V Anglaise, 
I have taken a mercantile view of the tender pas- 
sion ; but I must add that, in closing the ac- 



294 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS. 

counts, they are seldom fairly balanced, < e cio 
sa'l tuo dotore.' There is this difference between 
the Italians and others," said Byron, "that the 
end of love is not with them the beginning of ha- 
tred, which certainly is,, in general, the case with 
the English, and, I believe, the French : this may 
be accounted for from their having less vanity ; 
which is also the reason why they have less ill- 
nature in their compositions ; for vanity, being 
always on the qui vive, up in arms, ready to re- 
sent the least offence offered to it, precludes good 
temper." 

I asked Byron if his partialty for the Italians 
did not induce him to overlook other and obvious 
reasons for their not beginning to hate when they 
ceased to love : first the attachments were of such 
long duration that age arrived to quell angry feel- 
ings, and the gradations were so slow, from the 
first sigh of love to the yawn of expiring affec- 
tion, as to be almost imperceptible to the parties ; 
and the system of domesticating in Italy estab- 
lished a habit that rendered them necessary to 
each other. Then the slavery of serventism, the 
jealousies, carried to an extent that is unknown 
in England, and which exists longer than the 
passion that is supposed to excite, if not ex- 
cuse, them, may tend to reconcile lovers to 
the exchange of friendship for love ; and re- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 295 

joicing in their recovered liberty, they are more 
disposed to indulge feelings of complacency than 
hatred. * 

Byron said, " Whatever may be the cause, they 
have reason to rejoice in the effect ; and one is 
never afraid in Italy of inviting people together 
who have been known to have once had warmer 
feelings than friendship towards each other, as is 
the case in England, where, if persons under such 
circumstances were to meet, angry glances and a 
careful avoidance of civility, would mark their 
kind sentiments towards each other." 

I asked Byron if what he attributed to the 
effects of wounded vanity might not proceed 
from other and better feelings, at least on the 
part of women ? Might not shame and remorse 
be the cause ? The presence of the man who 
had caused their dereliction from duty and virtue 
calling up both, could not be otherwise than 
painful and humiliating to women who were not 
totally destitute of delicacy and feeling ; and that 
this most probably was the cause of the coldness 
he observed between persons of opposite sexes in 
society. 

" You are always thinking of and reasoning 
on the English" answered Byron : " mind, I refer 
to Italians, and with them there can be neither 
shame nor remorse, because in yielding to love, 



296 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

they do not believe they are violating either their 
duty or religion ; consequently a man has none 
of the reproaches to dread that awaits him in 
England when a lady's conscience is awakened — 
which, by the by, I have observed it seldom is 
until affection is laid asleep, which," continued 
Byron, " is very convenient to herself, but very 
much the reverse to the unhappy man." 

I am sure that much of what Byron said in 
this conversation was urged to vex me. Know- 
ing my partiality to England and all that is Eng- 
lish, he has a childish delight in exciting me into 
an argument ; and as I as yet know nothing of 
Italy, except through books, he takes advantage 
of his long residence in, and knowledge of the 
country, to vaunt the superiority of its customs 
and usages, which I never can believe he prefers 
to his own. A wish of vexing or astonishing the 
English is, I am persuaded, the motive that in- 
duces him to attack Shakspeare ; and he is highly 
gratified when he succeeds in doing either, and 
enjoys it like a child. He says that the reason 
why he judges the English women so severely is, 
that being brought up with certain principles, 
they are doubly to blame in not making their 
conduct accord with them ; and that, while pun- 
ishing with severity the transgressions of persons 
of their own sex in humble positions, they look 



WITH LORD BYRON. 297 

over the more glaring misconduct and vices of 
the rich and great — that not the crime, but its de- 
tection, is punished in England, and, to avoid this, 
hypocrisy is added to a want of virtue. 

" You have heard, of course," said Byron, "that 
I was considered mad in England ; my most in- 
timate friends in general, and Lady Byron in 
particular, were of this opinion : but it did not 
operate in my favor in their minds, as they were 
not, like the natives of eastern nations, disposed 
to pay honor to my supposed insanity or folly. 
They considered me a mejnoun, but would not 
treat me as one. And yet had such been the 
case, what ought to excite such pity and forbear- 
ance as a mortal malady that reduces us to more 
than childishness — a prostration of intellect that 
places us in the dependence of even menial 
hands ? Reason," continued Byron, " is so unrea- 
sonable, that few can say that they are in pos- 
session of it. I have often doubted my own 
sanity, and, what is more, wished for insanity 
— anything — to quell memory, the never-dying 
worm that feeds on the heart, and only calls up 
the past to make the present more insupportable. 
Memory has for me 

The vulture's ravenous tooth, 
The raven's funereal song. 

There is one thing," continued Byron, " that in- 



298 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

creases my discontent, and adds to the rage that 
I often feel against self. It is the conviction that 
the events in life that have most pained me — that 
have turned the milk of my nature into gall- 
have not depended on the persons who tortured 
me— as I admit the causes were inadequate to 
the effects : — it was my own nature, prompt to 
receive painful impressions, and to retain them 
with a painful tenacity, that supplied the arms 
against my peace. Nay, more, I believe that the 
wounds inflicted were not, for the most part pre- 
meditated ; or if so, that the extent and pro- 
fundity of them were not anticipated by the 
persons who aimed them. There are some na- 
tures that have a predisposition to grief, as others 
have to disease ; and such was my case. The 
causes that have made me wretched would prob- 
ably not have discomposed, or, at least, more 
than discomposed another. We are all differ- 
ently organized ; and that I feel acutely is no 
more my fault (though it is my misfortune) than 
that another feels not, is his. We did not make 
ourselves : and if the elements of unhappiness 
abound more in the nature of one man than an- 
other, he is but the more entitled to our pity and 
forbearance. Mine is a nature," continued Byron, 
" that might have been softened and ameliorated 
by prosperity, but that has been hardened and 



WITH LORD BYRON. 299 

soured by adversity." Prosperity and adversity 
are the fires by which moral chemists try and 
judge human nature ; and how few can pass the 
ordeal ! Prosperity corrupts and adversity ren- 
ders ordinary nature callous : but when any por- 
tion of excellence exists, neither can injure. The 
first will expand the heart, and show forth every 
virtue, as the genial rays of the sun bring forth 
the fruit and flowers of the earth ; and the second 
will teach sympathy for others, which is best 
learned in the school of affliction. 

" I am persuaded," said Byron, " that education 
has more effect in quelling the passions than 
people are aware of. I do not think this is 
achieved by the powers of reasoning and reflec- 
tion that education is supposed to bestow; for I 
know by experience how little either can in- 
fluence the person who is under the tyrant rule 
of passion. My opinion is that education, by 
expanding the mind, and giving sources of taste- 
ful occupation, so fills up the time, this leisure 
is not left for the passions to gain that empire 
that they are sure to acquire over the idle and 
ignorant. Look at the lower orders, and see 
what fearful proofs they continually furnish of 
the unlimited power passion has over them. I 
have seen instances, and particularly in Italy, 
among the lower class, and of your sex, where 



300 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the women seemed for the moment transform- 
ed into Medeas ; and so ungoverned and un- 
governable was their rage, that each appeared 
grand and tragic for the time, and furnished me, 
who am rather an amateur in studying nature 
under all her aspects, with food for reflection. 
Then the upper classes, too, in Italy, where the 
march of intellect has not advanced by rail-roads 
and steam-boats, as in polished, happy England, 
and where the women remain children in mind 
long after maturity had stamped their persons ! — 
see one of their stately dames under the influence 
of the green-eyed monster, and one can believe 
that the Furies were not fabulous. This is amus- 
ing at first, but becomes, like most amusements, 
rather a bore at the end ; and a poor cavalier ser- 
vente must have more courage than falls to the 
share of most, who would not shut his eyes 
against the beauty of all damas but his own, 
rather than encounter an explosion of jealousy. 
But the devil of it is, there is hardly a possibility 
of avoiding it, as the Italian women are so ad- 
dicted to jealousy, that the poor serventi are often 
accused of the worst intentions for merely per- 
forming the simple courtesies of life ; so that the 
system of serventism imposes a thousand times 
more restraint and slavery than marriage ever im- 
posed, even in the most moral countries : indeed, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 301 

where the morals are the most respected and 
cultivated," continued Byron, " there will be the 
least jealousy or suspicion, as morals are to the 
enlightened what religion is to the ignorant — 
their safeguard from committing wrong, or sus- 
pecting it. So you see, bad as I am supposed to 
be, I have, by this admission, proved the advan- 
tages of morals and religion. 

" But to return to my opinion of the effect 
education has in extending the focus of ideas, 
and consequently, of curbing the intensity of the 
passions. I have remarked that well-educated 
women rarely, if ever, gave way to any ebullitions 
of them ; and this is a grand step gained in con- 
quering their empire, as habit in this, as well as in 
all else, has great power . I hope my daughter will 
be well educated ; but of this I have little dread, 
as her mother is highly cultivated, and certainly 
has a degree of self-control that I never saw 
equalled. I am certain that Lady Byron's first 
idea is, what is due to herself; I mean that it is 
the undeviating rule of her conduct. I wish she 
had thought a little more of what is due to others. 
Now my besetting sin is a want of that self- 
respect — which she has in excess; and that want 
has produced much unhappiness to us both. But 
though I accuse Lady Byron of an excess of self- 
respect, I must in candor, admit, that if any per- 



302 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

son ever had an excuse for an extraordinary- 
portion of it, she has, as in all her thoughts, 
words, and deeds, she is the most decorous 
woman that ever existed and must appear — what 
few, I fancy, could — a perfect refined gentle- 
woman, even to her femme-de~chambre. This 
extraordinary degree of self-command in Lady 
Byron produced an opposite effect on me. When 
I have broken out, on slight provocations, into 
one of my ungovernable fits of rage, her calmness 
piqued and seemed to reproach me ; it gave, her 
an air of superiority that vexed, and increased my 
mauvais humeur. I am now older and wiser ; and 
should know how to appreciate her conduct as it 
deserved, as I look on self-command as a positive 
virtue, though it is one I have not courage to 
adopt." 

Talking of his proposed expedition to Greece, 
Byron said that, as the moment approached for 
undertaking it, he almost wished he had never 
thought of it. " This," said Byron, " is one of the 
many scrapes into which my poetical tempera- 
ment has drawn me. You smile, but it is never- 
theless true. No man, or woman either, with 
such a temperament, can be quiet. Passion is 
the element in which we live ; and without it we 
but vegetate. All the passions have governed 
me in turn, and I have found them the veriest 



WITH LOED BYRON. 303 

tyrants ; — like all slaves, I have reviled my mas- 
ters, but submitted to the yoke they imposed. I 
had hoped," continued Byron, "that avarice, that 
old gentlemanly vice, would, like Aaron's serpent, 
have swallowed up all the rest in me ; and that 
now I am descending into the vale of years, I 
might have found pleasure in golden realities, as 
in youth I found it in golden dreams, (and let me 
tell you, that of all the passions, this same decried 
avarice is the most consolatory, and, in nine cases 
out of ten, lasts the longest, and is the latest,) 
when up springs a new passion — call it love of 
liberty, military ardor, or what you will — to dis- 
gust me with my strong box, and the comfortable 
contemplation of my moneys — nay, to create 
wings for my golden darlings, that may waft me 
away from them for ever, and I may awaken to 
find that this, my present ruling passion, as I 
have always found my last, was the most worth- 
less of all, with the soothing reflection that it has 
left me minus some thousands. But I am fairly 
in for it, and it is useless to repine ; but, I repeat, 
this scrape, which may be my last, has been 
caused by my poetical temperament — the devil 
take it, say I." 

Byron was irresistibly comic when commenting 
on his own errors or weaknesses. His face, half 
laughing and half serious, archness always pre- 



304 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

dominating in its expression, added peculiar force 
to his words. 

" Is it not pleasant," continued Byron, " that my 
eyes should never open to the folly of any of the 
undertakings passion prompts me to engage in, 
until I am so far embarked that retreat (at least 
with honor) is impossible, and my mal a propos 
sagesse arrives, to scare away the enthusiasm that 
led to the undertaking, and which is so requisite- 
to carry it on ? It is all an up-hill affair with me 
afterwards ; I cannot, for my life, echauffer my 
imagination again, and my position excites such 
ludicrous images and thoughts in my own mind, 
that the whole subject, which, seen through the 
veil of passion, looked fit for a sublime epic, and 
I one of its heroes, examined now through 
reason's glass, appears fit only for a travestie, 
and my poor self a Major Sturgeon, marching 
and counter-marching, not from Acton to Ealing, 
or from Ealing to Acton, but from Corinth to 
Athens, and from Athens to Corinth. Yet, hang 
it," continued he, " these very names ought to 
chase away every idea of the ludicrous ; but the 
laughing devils will return, and make a mockery 
of every thing, as with me there is, as Napoleon 
said, but one step between the sublime and the 
ridiculous. Well, if I do (and this if is a grand 
peutetre in my future history) outlive the cam- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 305 

paign, I shall write two poems on the subject — 
one an epic, and the other a burlesque, in which 
none shall be spared, and myself least of all ; 
indeed, you must allow," continued Byron, " that 
if I take liberties with my friends, I take still 
greater ones with myself, therefore they ought to 
bear with me, if only out of consideration for my 
impartiality. I am also determined to write a 
poem in praise of avarice," said Byron, " as I 
think it a most ill-used and unjustly decried 
passion — mind, I do not call it a vice — and I 
hope to make it clear that a passion which 
enables us to conquer the appetites, or, at least, 
the indulgence of them ; that triumphs over pride, 
vanity, and ostentation, that leads us to the prac- 
tice of daily self-denial, temperance, sobriety, and 
a thousand other praiseworthy practices, ought 
not to be censured, more especially as all the 
sacrifices it commands are endured without any 
weak feeling of reference to others, though to 
others all the reward of such sacrifices belongs." 

Byron laughed very much at the thought of 
this poem, and the censures it would excite in 
England among the matter-of-fact, credulous 
class of readers and writers. Poor Byron ! how 
much more pains did he bestow to take off the 
gloss from his own qualities, than others do to 
give theirs a false lustre ! In his hatred and con- 

20 



306 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

tempt of hypocrisy and cant, he outraged his own 
nature, and rendered more injustice to himself 
than even his enemies ever received at his hands. 
His confessions of errors were to be received with 
caution ; for he exaggerated not only his mis- 
deeds but his opinions ; and, fond of tracing 
springs of thought to their sources, he involved 
himself in doubts, to escape from which he boldly 
attributed to himself motives and feelings that 
had passed, but like shadows, through his mind, 
and left unrecorded, mementos that might have 
redeemed even more than the faults of which he 
accused himself. When the freedom with which 
Byron remarked on the errors of his friends draws 
down condemnation from his readers, let them 
reflect on the still greater severity with which he 
treated his own, and let this mistaken and exag- 
gerated candor plead his excuse. 

" It is odd," said Byron, "that I never could get 
on well in conversation with literary men ; they 
always seemed to think themselves obliged to 
pay some neat and appropriate compliment to 
my last work, which I, as in duty bound, was 
compelled to respond to, and bepraise theirs. 
They never appeared quite satisfied with my 
faint praise, and I was far from being satisfied at 
having been forced to administer it; so mutual 
constraint ensued, each wondering what was to 



WITH LOED BYRON. 307 

come next, and wishing each other (at least I can 
answer for myself) at the devil. Now Scott, 
though a giant in literature, is unlike literary 
men ; he neither expects compliments nor pays 
them in conversation. There is a sincerity and 
simplicity in his character and manner that stamp 
any commendation of his as truth, and any praise 
one might offer him must fall short of his deserts, 
so that there is no gene in his society. There is 
nothing in him that gives the impression I have 
so often had of others, who seemed to say, ' I 
praise you that you may do the same by me.' 
Moore is a delightful companion," continued 
Byron ; " gay without being boisterous, witty 
without effort, comic without coarseness, and 
sentimental without being lachrymose. He re- 
minds one," continued Byron, " of the fairy, who, 
whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her 
lips. My tete-d-tete suppers with Moore are 
among the most agreeable impressions I retain 
of the hours passed in London, they are the re- 
deeming lights in the gloomy picture ; but they 
were, 

Like angel visits, few and far between : 

for the great defect in my friend Tom is a sort 
of fidgety unsettledness that prevents his giving 
himself up, con amore, to any one friend, because 
he is apt to think he might be more happy with 



308 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

another; he has the organ of locomotiveness 
largely developed, as a phrenologist would say, 
and would like to be at three places instead of 
one. I always felt, with Moore, the desire John- 
^ son expressed, to be shut up in a postchaise, 
tete-d-tete with a pleasant companion, to be quite 
sure of him. He must be delightful in a country- 
house, at a safe distance from any other inviting 
one, when one could have him really to one's self, 
and enjoy his conversation and his singing, 
without the perpetual fear that he is expected at 
Lady This or Lady That's, or the being reminded 
that he promised to look in at Lansdowne House 
or Grosvenor Square. The wonder is, not that 
he is rScherche, but that he wastes himself on 
those who can so little appreciate him, though 
they value the eclat his reputation gives to then 
stupid soirees. I have known a dull man live on 
a bon mot of Moore's for a week; and I once 
offered a wager of a considerable sum that the 
reciter was guiltless of understanding its point, 
but could get no one to accept my bet. 

" Are you acquainted with the family of ? " 

asked Byron. " The commendation formerly be- 
stowed on the Sidney family might be reversed 
on them, as all the sons are virtuous, and all the 
daughters brave. I once," continued he, " said 
this with a grave face to a near relation of theirs, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 309 

who received it as a compliment, and told me I 
was very good. I was in old times fond of 
mystifying, and paying equivocal compliments ; 
but 'was- is not is' with me, as God knows, in 
any sense, for I am now cured of mystifying, 
as well as of many others of my mischievous 
pranks ; whether I am a better man for my self- 
correction remains to be proved ; I am quite sure 
that I am not a more agreeable one. I have 
always had a strong love of mischief in my 
nature," said Byron, " and this still continues, 
though I do not very often give way to its dic- 
tates. It is this lurking devil that prompts me 
to abuse people against whom I have not the 
least malicious feeling, and to praise some whose 
merits (if they have any) I am little acquainted 
with, but I do it in the mischievous spirit of the 
moment to vex the person or persons with whom 
I am conversing. Is not this very childish ? " con- 
tinued Byron, " and, above all, for a poet, which 
people tell me I am ? All I know is, that if I 
am, poets can be greater fools than other people. 
We of the craft — poets, I mean — resemble paper 
kites ; we soar high into the air, but are held to 
earth by a cord, and our flight is restrained by a 
child — that child is self. We are but grown 
children, having all their weakness, and only 
wanting their innocence ; our thoughts soar, but 



310 



JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



•y 



> 



the frailty of our natures brings them back to 
earth. What should we be without thoughts ? " 
continued Byron, " they are the bridges by which 
we pass over time and space. And yet, perhaps, 
like troops flying before the enemy, we are often 
tempted to destroy the bridges we have passed 
to save ourselves from pursuit. How often have I 
tried to shun thought! but come, I must not get 
gloomy ; my thoughts are almost always of the 
sombre hue, so that I ought not to be blamed," 
said he, laughing, " if I steal those of others, as 
I am accused of doing ; I cannot have any more 
disagreeable ones than my own, at least as far as 
they concern myself. 

" In all the charges of plagiary brought against 
me in England," said Byron, " did you hear me 
accused of stealing from Madame de Stael the 
opening lines of my ' Bride of Abydos ? ' She is 
supposed to have borrowed her lines from Schle- 
gel, or to have stolen them from Goethe's ' Wil- 
li elm Meister ; ' so you see I am a third or fourth 
hand stealer of stolen goods. Do you know de 
Stael's lines ? " continued Byron, " for if I am a 
thief, she must be the plundered, as I don't read 
German, and do French, yet I could almost 
swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote 
mine, nor do I even now remember them. I 
think the first began with 



' Cette terre,' &c. &c. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 311 

but the rest I forget; as you have a good 
memory, perhaps you would repeat them." 
I did so, and they are as follows : — 

Cette terre, oil les myrtes fleurissent, 

Ou les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour, 
Ou des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent, 
Ou la plus douce nuit succ^de au plus beau jour. 

" Well," said Byron, " I do not see any point of 
resemblance, except in the use of the two un- 
fortunate words land and myrtle, and for using 
these new and original words I am a plagiarist ! 
To avoid such charges, I must invent a dictionary 
for myself. Does not this charge prove the liberal 
spirit of the hypercritics in England? If they 
knew how little I value their observations, or the 
opinions of those that they can influence, they 
would be perhaps more spiteful, and certainly 
more careful in producing better proofs of their 
charges ; the one of de Stael's I consider a tri- 
umphant refutation for me. 

" I often think," said Byron, " that were I to re- 
turn to England, I should be considered, in cer- 
tain circles, as having a tres mauvais ton, for I 
have been so long out of it that I have learned to 
say what I think, instead of saying only what, 
by the rules of convenience, people are permitted 
to think. For though England tolerates the lib- 
erty of the press, it is far from tolerating liberty 



312 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

of thought or of speech ; and since the progress 
of modern refinement, when delicacy of words is 
as remarkable as in delicacy of actions, a plain- 
speaking man is sure to get into a scrape. Noth- 
ing amuses me more than to see refinement 
versus morals, and to know that people are 
shocked not at crimes, but their detection. The 
Spartan boy, who suffered the animal he had 
secured by theft to prey on his vitals, evinced 
not more constancy in concealing his sufferings 
than do the English in suppressing all external 
symptoms of what they must feel, and on many 
occasions, when Nature makes herself felt through 
the expression of her feelings, would be con- 
sidered almost as a crime. But I believe crime 
is a word banished from the vocabulary of haut- 
Hon, as the vices of the rich and great are called 
errors, and those of the poor and lowly only, 
crimes. 

" Do you know ? " asked Byron. " He is 

the king of prosers. I called him 'he of the 
thousand tales,' in humble imitation of .Boccaccio, 
whom I styled ' he of the hundred tales of love,' 

— mais lielas I 's are not tales of love, or that 

beget love ; they are born of dulness, and inciting 
sleep, they produce the same effect on the senses 
that the monotonous sound of a waterfall never 
fails to have on mine. With one is afraid 



WITH LOED BYKON. 313 

to speak, because whatever is said is sure to bring 
forth a reminiscence, that as surely leads to inter- 
minable recollections, 

Dull as the dreams of him who swills vile beer. 

Thus," continued Byron, "is so honourable 

and well-intentioned a man that one can find 
nothing bad to say of him, except that he is a 
bore ; and as there is no law against that class 
of offenders, one must bear with him. It is to be 
hoped, that, with all the morWn improvements in 
refinement, a mode will be Qiscovered of getting 
rid of bores, for it is too bad that a poor wretch 
can be punished for stealing your pocket hand- 
kerchief or gloves, and that no punishment can 
be inflicted on those who steal your time, and 
with it your temper and patience, as well as the 
bright thoughts that might have entered into the 
mind, (like the Irishman who lost a fortune be- 
fore he had got it,) but were frighted away by 
the bore. Nature certainly," said Byron, " has not 

dealt charitably by , for, independent of 

his being the king of prosers, he is the ugliest 
person possible, and when he talks, breathes not 
of Araby the blest; his heart is good, but the 
stomach is none of the best, judging from its 
exhalations. His united merits led me to at- 
tempt an epigram on them, which, I believe, is 
as follows : — 



314 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

When conversing with , who can disclose 

Which suffers the most — eyes, ears, or the nose? 

" I repeated this epigram," continued Byron, a to 
him as having been made on a mutual friend of 
ours, and he enjoyed it, as we all do some hit on 
a friend. I have known people who were in- 
capable of saying the least unkind word against 
friends, and yet who listened with evident (though 
attempted to be suppressed) pleasure to the ma- 
licious jokes or witty sarcasms of others against 
them ; a proof that, even in the best people, some 
taints, of the original evil of our natures remain. 
You think I am wrong," continued Byron, " in my 
estimate of human nature ; you think I analyze 
my own evil qualities and those of others too 
closely, and judge them too severely. I have 
need of self-examination to reconcile me to all 
the incongruities I discover, and to make me 
more lenient to faults that my tongue censures, 
but that my heart pardons, from the conscious- 
ness of its own weakness." 

We should all do well to reflect on the frailty 
of man, if it led us more readily to forgive his 
faults, and cherish his virtues ; the one, alas ! 
are inextirpable, but the others are the victories 
gained over that most difficult to be conquered 
of all assailants — self; to which victory, if we 
do not decree a triumph, we ought to grant an 



WITH LORD BYRON. 315 

ovation, but, unhappily, the contemplation of 
human frailty is too apt to harden the heart, and 
oftener creates disgust than humility. " When 
we dwell on vices with mockery and bitterness, 
instead of pity, we may doubt the efficacy of 
our contemplation ; and this," said I to Byron, 
" seems to me to be your case ; for when I hear 
your taunting reflections on the discoveries you 
make in poor, erring human nature ; when you 
have explored and exposed every secret recess of 
the heart, you appear to me like a fallen angel, 
sneering at the sins of men, instead of a fellow 
man pitying them. This it is that makes me 
think you analyze too deeply ; and I would at 
present lead you to reflect only on the good that 
still remains in the world — for be assured there 
is much good, as an antidote to the evil that you 
know of." 

Byron laughed, and said, " You certainly do 
not spare me ; but you manage to wrap up your 
censures in an envelop almost complimentary, 
and that reconciles me to their bitterness, as 
children are induced to take physic by its being 
disguised in some sweet substance. The fallen 
angel is so much more agreeable than demon, as 
others have called me, that I am rather flattered 
than affronted ; I ought, in return, to say some- 
thing tres aimable to you, in which angelic at 



316 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

least might be introduced, but I will not, as I 
never can compliment those that I esteem. — But 
to return to self; — you know that I have been 
called not only a demon, but a French poet has 
addressed me as chantre d'enfer, which, I sup- 
pose, he thinks very flattering. I dare say his 
poem will be done into English by some Attic 
resident, and, instead of a singer of hell, I shall 
be styled a hellish singer, and so go down to 
posterity." 

He laughed at his own pun, and said he felt 
half disposed to write a quizzing answer to the 
French poet, in which he should mystify him. 

" It is no wonder," said Byron, " that I am con- 
sidered a demon, when people have taken it into 
their heads that I am the hero of all my own 
tales in verse. They fancy one can only describe 
what has actually occurred to one's self, and for- 
get the power that persons of any imagination 
possess of identifying themselves, for the time be- 
' ing, with the creations of their fancy. This is a 
peculiar distinction conferred on me, for I have 
heard of no other poet who has been identified 
with his works. I saw the other day," said By- 
ron, "in one of the papers a fanciful simile about 
y> Moore's writings and mine. It stated that Moore's 
poems appeared as if they ought to be written 
with crow-quills, on rose-colored paper, stamped 



WITH LOED BYRON. 317 

with Cupids and flowers ; and mine on asbestos, 
written by quills from the wing of an eagle; — 
you laugh, but I think this is a very sublime com- 
parison — at least, so far as I am concerned — it 
quite consoles me for ' chantre d'enfer.' By the 
by, the French poet is neither a philosopher nor a 
logician ; as he dubs me by this title merely because 
I doubt that there is an enfer — ergo, I cannot 
be styled the chantre of a place of which I doubt 
the existence. I dislike French verse so much," 
said Byron, " that I have not read more than a 
few lines of the one in which I am dragged into 
public view. He calls me," said Byron, " Esprit 
mysterieux, mortel, ange ou demon ;' which I call 
very uncivil, for a well-bred Frenchman, and 
moreover one of the craft ; I wish he would let 
me and my works alone, for I am sure I do not 
trouble him or his, and should not know that he 
existed, except from his notice of me which some 
good-natured friend has sent me. There are 
some things in the world, of which, like gnats, 
we are only reminded of the existence by their 
stinging us ; this was his position with me." 

Had Byron read the whole of the poem ad- 
dressed to him by M. de Lamartine, he would 
have been more flattered than offended by it, as it 
is not only full of beauty, but the admiration for 
the genius of the English poet, which pervades 



318 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

every sentiment of the ode, is so profound, that 
the epithet which offended the morbid sensitive- 
ness of Byron would have been readily pardoned. 
M. de Lamartine is perhaps the only French poet 
who could have so justly appreciated, and grace- 
fully eulogized, our wayward child of genius ; and 
having written so successfully himself, his praise 
is more valuable. His " Meditations " possess a 
depth of feeling which, tempered by a strong re- 
ligious sentiment that makes the Christian rise 
superior to the philosopher, bears the impress of a 
true poetical temperament, which could not fail to 
sympathize with all the feelings, however he might 
differ from the reasonings of Byron. Were the 
works of the French poet better known to the 
English bard he could not, with even all his dis- 
like to French poetry, have refused his approba- 
tion to the writings of M. de Lamartine. 

Talking of solitude — "It has but one disad- 
vantage," said Byron, " but that is a serious one — 
it is apt to give one too high an opinion of one's 
self. In the world we are sure to be often re- 
minded of every known or supposed defect we 
may have ; hence we can rarely, unless possessed 
of an inordinate share of vanity, form a very ex- 
alted opinion of ourselves, and, in society, woe be 
to him who lets it be known that he thinks more 
highly of himself than of his neighbors, as this is 



WITH LORD BYRON. 319 

a crime that arms every one against him. This 
was the rock on which Napoleon foundered ; he 
had so often wounded the amour propre of others, 
that they were glad to hurl him from the emi- 
nence that made him appear a giant and those 
around him pigmies. If a man or woman has any 
striking superiority, some great defect or weakness 
must be discovered to counterbalance it, that 
their contemporaries may console themselves for 
their envy, by saying, ' Well, if I have not the 
genius of Mr. This, or the beauty or talent of Mrs. 
That, I have not the violent temper of the one, or 
the overweening vanity of the other.' But, to re- 
turn to solitude," said Byron, " it is the only fool's 
paradise on earth ; there we have no one to re- 
mind us of our faults, or by whom we can be 
humiliated by comparisons ! Our evil passions 
sleep, because they are not excited ; our produc- 
tions appear sublime, because we have no kind 
and judicious friend to hint at their defects, and 
to point out faults of style and imagery where 
we had thought ourselves most luminous ; these 
are the advantages of solitude, and those who 
have once tasted them, can never return to the 
busy world again with any zest for its feverish 
enjoyments. In the world," said Byron, " I am 
always irritable and violent ; the very noise of the 
streets of a populous city affect ' my nerves ; I 



320 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

seemed in a London house ' cabined, cribbed, 
confined, and felt like a tiger in too small a 
cage.' Apropos of tigers, did you ever observe 
that all people in a violent rage, walk up and 
down the place they are in, as wild beasts do in 
their dens? I have particularly remarked this," 
continued he, " and it proved to me, what I 
never doubted, that we have much of the animal 
and the ferocious in our natures, which, I am 
convinced, is increased by an over-indulgence of 
our carnivorous propensities. It has been said 
that, to enjoy solitude, a man must be superla- 
tively good or bad ; I deny this, because there 
are no superlatives in man — all are comparative 
or relative ; but, had I no other reason to deny it, 
my own experience would furnish me with one. 
God knows I never flattered myself with the idea 
of being superlatively good, as no one better 
knows his faults than I do mine ; but, at the 
same time, I am as unwilling to believe that I 
am superlatively bad, yet I enjoy solitude more 
than I ever enjoyed society, even in my most 
youthful days." 

I told Byron, that I expected he would one day 
give the world a collection of useful aphorisms, 
drawn from personal experience. He laughed 
and said — "Perhaps I may; those are best suited 
to advise others who have missed the road them- 



WITH LOED BYROtf. 321 

selves, and this has been my case. I have found 
friends false — acquaintances malicious — relations 
indifferent — and nearer and dearer connections 
perfidious. Perhaps much, if not all this, has 
been caused by my own waywardness ; but, that 
has not prevented my feeling it keenly. It has 
made me look on friends as partakers of pros- 
perity — censurers in adversity — and absentees in 
distress ; and has forced me to view acquaint- 
ances merely as persons who think themselves 
justified in courting or cutting one, as best suits 
them. "But relations I regard only as people 
privileged to tell disagreeable truths, and to ac- 
cept weighty obligations, as matters of course. 
You have now," continued Byron, " my unsophisti- 
cated opinion of friends, acquaintances, and rela- 
tions ; of course there are always exceptions, but 
they are rare, and exceptions do not make the 
rule. All that I have said are but reiterated tru- 
isms that all admit to be just, but that few, if 
any, act upon ; they are like the death-bell that 
we hear toll for others, without thinking that it 
must soon toll for us ; we know that others have 
been deceived, but we believe that we are either 
too clever, or too lovable, to meet the same fate ; 
we see our friends drop daily around us, many 
of them younger and healthier than ourselves, yet 
we think that we shall live to be old, as if we 
21 



322 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

possessed some stronger hold on life than those 
who have gone before us. Alas! life is but a 
dream from which we are only awakened by 
death. All else is illusion ; changing as we 
change, and each cheating us in turn, until death 
withdraws the veil, and shows us the dread real- 
ity. It is strange," said Byron, " that feeling, as 
most people do, life a burthen, we should still 
cling to it with such pertinacity. This is an- 
other proof of animal feeling ; for if the divine 
spirit that is supposed to animate us mastered 
the animal nature, should we not rejoice at lay- 
ing down the load that has so long oppressed us, 
and beneath which we have groaned for years, 
to seek a purer, brighter existence ? Whoever 
reached the age of twenty-five," continued Byron, 
"without feeling the tcedium vitce which poisons 
the little enjoyment that we are allowed to taste? 
We begin life with the hope of attaining happi- 
ness ; soon discovering that to be unattainable, 
we seek pleasure as a poor substitute ; but even 
this eludes our grasp, and we end by desiring 
repose, which death alone can give." 

I told Byron that the greater part of our cha- 
grins arose from disappointed hopes ; that, in our 
pride and weakness, we consider happiness as 
our birthright, and received infliction as an in- 
justice ; whereas the latter was the inevitable lot 



WITH LOKD BYRON. 323 

of man, and the other but the ignis fatuus that 
beguiles the dreary path of life, and sparkles but 
to deceive. I added that while peace of mind 
was left us, we could not be called miserable. 
This greatest of all earthly consolations depends 
on ourselves ; whereas for happiness we rely on 
others ; but, as the first is lasting, and the second 
fleeting, we ought to cultivate that of which 
naught but our own actions can deprive us, and 
enjoy the other as we do a fine autumnal day, 
that we prize the more because we know it will 
soon be followed by winter. 

" Your philosophy is really admirable," said By- 
ron, " if it were possible to follow it ; but I suspect 
that you are among the number of those who 
preach it the most, and practice it the least, for 
you have too much feeling to have more than a 
theoretical knowledge of it. For example, how 
would you bear the ingratitude and estrangement 
of friends — of those in whom you had garnered 
up your heart ? I suspect that, in such a case, 
feeling would beat philosophy out of the field; 
for I have ever found that philosophy, like expe- 
rience, never comes till one has ceased to require 
its services. I have," continued Byron " experi- 
enced ingratitude and estrangement from friends ; 
and this, more than all else, has destroyed my 
confidence in human nature. It is thus from in- 



324 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

dividual cases that we are so apt to generalize. 
A few persons on whom we have lavished our 
friendship, without ever examining if they had 
the qualities requisite to justify such a preference, 
are found to be ungrateful, and unworthy, and 
instead of blaming our own want of perception 
in the persons so unwisely chosen, we cry out 
against poor human nature ; one or two exam- 
ples of ingratitude and selfishness prejudice us 
against the world ; but six times the number of 
examples of goodness and sincerity fail to recon- 
cile us to it — so much more susceptible are we 
of evil impressions than of good. Have you not 
observed," said Byron, " how much more prone 
people are to remember injuries than benefits ? 
The most essential services are soon forgotten ; 
but some trifling and often unintentional offence 
is rarely pardoned, and never effaced from the 
memory. All this proves that we have a strong 
and decided predisposition to evil ; the tendencies 
and consequences of which we may conceal, but 
cannot eradicate. I think ill of the world," con- 
tinued Byron, " but I do not as some cynics as- 
sert, believe it to be composed of knaves and 
fools. No, I consider that it is, for the most part, 
peopled by those who have not talents sufficient 
to be the first, and yet have one degree too much 
to be the second." 



WITH LOED BYEON. 325 

Byron's bad opinion of mankind is not, I am 
convinced, genuine ; and it certainly does not 
operate on his actions, as his first impulses are 
always good, and his heart is kind and charitable. 
His good deeds are never the result of reflection, 
as the heart acts before the head has had time to 
reason. This cynical habit of decrying human 
nature is one of the many little affectations to 
which he often descends ; and this impression has 
become so fixed in my mind, that I have been 
vexed with myself for attempting to refute opin- 
ions of his, which, on reflection, I was convinced 
were not his real sentiments, but uttered either 
from a foolish wish of display, or from a spirit of 
contradiction, which much influences his conver- 
sation. I have heard him assert opinions one 
day, and maintain the most opposite, with equal 
warmth the day after; this arises not so much 
from insincerity, as from being wholly governed 
by the feeling of the moment ; he has no fixed 
principle of conduct or of thought, and the want 
of it leads him into errors and inconsistencies, 
from which he is only rescued by a natural good- 
ness of heart, that redeems, in some degree, what 
it cannot prevent. Violence of temper tempts 
him into expressions that might induce people to 
believe him vindictive and rancorous ; he exag- 
gerates all his feelings when he gives utterance 



326 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

to them ; and here the imagination, that has led 
to his triumph in poetry, operates less happily, by 
giving a stronger shade to his sentiments and ex- 
pressions. When he writes or speaks at such 
moments, the force of his language imposes a be- 
lief that the feeling which gives birth to it must 
be fixed in his mind ; but see him in a few hours 
after, and not only no trace of this angry excite- 
ment remains, but, if recurred to by another, he 
smiles at his own exaggerated warmth of expres- 
sion, and proves, in a thousand ways, that the 
temper only is responsible for his defects, and not 
the heart. 

" I think it is Diderot," said Byron, " who says 
that, to describe woman, one ought to dip one's 
pen in the rainbow; and, instead of sand, use the 
dust from the wings of butterflies to dry the pa- 
per. This is a concetto worthy of a Frenchman ; 
and, though meant as complimentary, is really by 
no means so to your sex. To describe woman, 
the pen should be dipped, not in the rainbow, but 
in the heart of man, ere more than eighteen sum- 
mers have passed over his head ; and, to dry the 
paper, I would allow only the sighs of adoles- 
cence. Women are best understood by men 
whose feelings have not been hardened by a con- 
tact with the world, and who believe in virtue 
because they are unacquainted with vice. A 



WITH LORD BYRON. 327 

knowledge of vice will, as far as I can judge by- 
experience, invariably produce disgust, as I be- 
lieve, with my favorite poet, that — 

Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, 
That, to be hated, needs but to be seen. 

But he who has known it can never truly de- 
scribe woman as she ought to be described ; and, 
therefore, a public knowledge of the world unfits 
a man for the task. When I attempted to de- 
scribe Haidee and Zuleika, I endeavored to forget 
all that friction with the w T orld had taught me; 
and if I at all succeeded, it was because I was, 
and am, penetrated with the conviction that wo- 
men only know evil from having experienced it 
through men ; whereas men have no criterion to 
judge of purity or goodness but woman. Some 
portion of this purity and goodness always ad- 
heres to woman," continued Byron, " even though 
she may lapse from virtue ; she makes a willing 
sacrifice of herself on the altar of affection, and 
thinks only of him for whom it is made : while 
men think of themselves alone, and regard the 
woman but as an object that administers to their 
selfish gratification, and who, when she ceases to 
have this power, is thought of no more, save as 
an obstruction in their path. You look incredu- 
lous," said Byron, " but I have said what I think, 
though not all that I think, as I have a much 



323 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

higher opinion of your sex than I have even now 
expressed." 

This would be most gratifying could I be sure 
that, to-morrow or next day, some sweeping sar- 
casm against my sex may not escape from the 
lips that have now praised them, and that my 
credulity, in believing the praise, may not be 
quoted as an additional proof of their weakness. 
This instability of opinion, or expression of opin- 
ion, of Byron, destroys all confidence in him, and 
precludes the possibility of those, who live much 
in his society, feeling that sentiment of confiding 
security in him, without which a real regard can- 
not subsist. It has always appeared a strange 
anomaly to me, that Byron, who possesses such 
acuteness in discerning the foibles and defects of 
others, should have so little power either in con- 
quering or concealing his own, that they are evi- 
dent even to a superficial observer; it is also 
extraordinary that the knowledge of human na- 
ture, which enables him to discover at a glance 
such defects, should not dictate the wisdom of 
concealing his discoveries, at least from those in 
whom he has made them ; but in this he betrays 
a total want of tact, and must often send away 
his associates dissatisfied with themselves, and 
still more so with him, if they happen to possess 
discrimination or susceptibility. 



WITH LOED BYRON. 329 

" To let a person see that you have discovered 
his faults, is to make him an enemy for life," 
says Byron ; and yet this he does continually : 
he says, " that the only truths a friend will tell 
you, are your faults ; and the only thing he will 
give you, is advice." Byron's affected display of 
knowledge of the world deprives him of commis- 
eration for being its dupe, while his practical in- 
experience renders him so perpetually. He is at 
war with the actual state of things, yet admits 
that all that he now complains of has existed for 
centuries ; and that those who have taken up 
arms against the world have found few applaud- 
ers, and still fewer followers. His philosophy is 
more theoretical than practical, and must so con- 
tinue, as long as passion and feeling have more 
influence over him than reflection and reason. 
Byron affects to be unfeeling, while he is a victim 
to sensibility ; and to be reasonable, while he is 
governed by imagination only ; and so meets 
with no sympathy from either the advocates of 
sensibility or reason, and consequently condemns 
both. " It is fortunate for those," said Byron, 
" whose near connections are good and estimable ; 
independently of various other advantages that 
are derived from it, perhaps the greatest of all 
are the impressions made on our minds in early 
youth by witnessing goodness, impressions which 



330 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

have such weight in deciding our future opinions. 
If we witness evil qualities in common acquaint- 
ances, the effect is slight, in comparison with that 
made by discovering them in. those united to us 
by the ties of consanguinity ; this last disgusts 
us with human nature, and renders us doubtful 
of goodness, a progressive step made in misan- 
thropy, the most fearful disease that can attack 
the mind. My first and earliest impressions were 
melancholy — my poor mother gave them ; but to 
my sister, who, incapable of wrong herself sus- 
pected no wrong in others, I owe the little good 
of which I can boast ; and had 1 earlier known 
her, it might have influenced my destiny. Au- 
gusta has great strength of mind, which is dis- 
played not only in her own conduct, but to 
support the weak and infirm of purpose. To me 
she was, in the hour of need, as a tower of 
strength. Her affection was my last rallying- 
point, and is now the only bright spot that the 
horizon of England offers to my view. Augusta 
knew all my weaknesses, but she had love enough 
to bear with them. I value not the false senti- 
ment of affection that adheres to one while we 
believe him faultless ; not to love him would then 
be difficult : but give me the love that, with per- 
ception to view the errors, has sufficient force to 
pardon them — who can c love the offender, yet de- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 331 

test the offence ; ' and this my sister had. She 
has given me such good advice, and yet, finding 
me incapable of following it, loved and pitied me 
but the more, because I was erring. This is true 
affection, and, above all, true Christian feeling ; 
but how rarely is it to be met with in England ! 
where amour propre prompts people to show their 
superiorly by giving advice ; and a melange of 
selfishness and wounded vanity engages them to 
resent its not being followed ; which they do by 
not only leaving off the advised, but by injuring 
him by every means in their power. Depend on 
it," continued Byron, " the English are the most 
perfidious friends and unkind relations that the 
civilized world can produce; and if you have had 
the misfortune to lay them under weighty obliga- 
tions, you may look for all the injuries that they 
can inflict, as they are anxious to avenge them- 
selves for all the humiliations they suffer when 
they accept favors. They are proud, but have 
not sufficient pride to refuse services that are nec- 
essary to their comfort, and have too much false 
pride to be grateful. They may pardon a refusal 
to assist them, but they never can forgive a gen- 
erosity which, as they are seldom capable of prac- 
tising or appreciating, overpowers and humiliates 
them. With this opinion of the English," con- 
tinued Byron, " which has not been lightly formed, 



332 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

you may imagine how truly I must value my sis- 
ter, who is so totally opposed to them. She is 
tenacious of accepting obligations, even from the 
nearest relations ; but, having accepted, is inca- 
pable of aught approaching to ingratitude. Poor 

Lady had just such a sister as mine, who, 

faultless herself, could pardon and weep over the 
errors of one less pure, and almost redeem them 

by her own excellence. Had Lady 's sister 

or mine," continued Byron, " been less good and 
irreproachable, they could not have afforded to be 
so forbearing; but, being unsullied, they could 
show mercy without fear of drawing attention to 
their own misdemeanors." 

Byron talked to-day of Campbell the poet ; 
said that he was a warm-hearted and honest 
man ; praised his works, and quoted some passa- 
ges from the " Pleasures of Hope," which he said 
was a poem full of beauties. " I differ, however," 
said Byron, " with my friend Campbell on some 
points. Do you remember the passage — 

' But mark the wretch whose wanderings never knew 
The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue ! 
His erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
But found not pity when it erred no more. ' 

This, he said, was so far a true picture, those who 
once erred being supposed to err always — a char- 
itable, but false, supposition, that the English are 



WITH LORD BYRON. 333 

prone to act upon. " But," added Byron " I am 
not prepared to admit, that a man, under such 
circumstances as those so poetically described by 
Campbell could feel hope ; and, judging by my 
own feelings, I should think that there would be 
more of envy than of hope in the poor man's 
mind, when he leaned on the gate, and looked at 
1 the blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green.' 
Campbell was, however, right in representing it 
otherwise," continued Byron. " We have all, God 
knows, occasion for hope to enable us to support 
the thousand vexations of this dreary existence ; 
and he who leads us to believe in this universal 
panacea, in which, par parenthese, I have little 
faith, renders a service to humanity. Campbell's 
1 Lochiel ' and ' Mariners ' are admirable spirit- 
stirring productions," said Byron ; " his ' Gertrude 
of Wyoming ' is beautiful ; and some of the 
episodes in his ' Pleasures of Hope ' pleased me 
so much, that I know them by heart. By the by," 
continued he, "we must be indebted to Ireland 
for this mode of expressing the knowing any 
thing by rote, and it is at once so true and poeti- 
cal, that I always use it. We certainly remem- 
ber best those passages, as well as events, that 
interest us most, or touch the heart, which must 
have given birth to the phrase — ' know by heart.' 
The ' Pleasures of Memory ' is a very beautiful 



7 



334 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

poem," said Byron, " harmonious, finished, and 
chaste ; it contains not a single meretricious or- 
nament. If Rogers has not fixed himself in the 
higher fields of Parnassus, he has, at least, culti- 
vated a very pretty flower-garden at its base. Is 
not this," continued Byron, " a poetical image 
worthy of a conversazione at Lydia White's ? 
But, jesting apart, for one ought to be serious in 
talking of so serious a subject as the pleasures 
of memory, which, God knows, never offered any 
pleasures to me, (mind, I mean memory, and not 
the poem,) it really always did remind me of a 
flower-garden, so filled with sweets, so trim, so 
orderly. You, I am sure, know the powerful 
poem written in a blank leaf of the ' Pleasures 
of Memory,' by an unknown author ? He has 
taken my view of the subject, and I envy him 
for expressing all that I felt ; but did not, could 
not, express as he has done. This wilderness of 
triste thoughts offered a curious contrast to the 
hortus siccus of pretty flowers that followed it," 
said Byron, " and marks the difference between 
inspiration and versification. 

" Having compared Rogers's poem to a flower- 
garden," continued Byron, " to what shall I com- 
pare Moore's ? — to the Valley of Diamonds, 
where all is brilliant and attractive, but where 
one is so dazzled by the sparkling on every side 



WITH LOED BYRON. 335 

that one knows not where to fix, each gem beau- 
tiful in itself but overpowering to the eye from 
their quantity. Or, to descend to a more homely 
comparison, though really," continued Byron, " so 
brilliant a subject hardly admits of any thing 
homely, Moore's poems (with the exception of 
the Melodies) resemble the fields in Italy, cov- 
ered by such myriads of fire-flies shining and 
glittering around, that if one attempts to seize 
one, another still more brilliant attracts, and one 
is bewildered from too much brightness. I re- 
member reading somewhere," said Byron, " a con- 
cetto of designating different living poets, by the 
cups Apollo gives them to drink out of. Words- 
worth is made to drink from a wooden bowl, and 
my melancholy self from a skull, chased with 
gold. Now, I would add the following cups : 
To Moore, I would give a cup formed like the 
lotus flower, and set in brilliants ; to Crab be a 
scooped pumpkin ; to Rogers, an antique vase, 
formed of agate ; and to Colman, a champagne- 
glass, as descriptive of their different styles. I 
dare say none of them would be satisfied with 
the appropriation ; but who ever is satisfied with 
any thing in the shape of criticism ? and least of 
all, poets." 

Talking of Shakspeare, Byron said, that " he 
owed one half of his popularity to his low origin, 



336 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

which, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins 
with the multitude, and the other half, to the 
remoteness of the time at which he wrote from 
our own days. All his vulgarisms," continued 
Byron, " are attributed to the circumstances of 
his birth and breeding depriving him of a good 
education ; hence they are to be excused, and 
the obscurities with which his works abound are 
all easily explained away by the simple state- 
ment, that he wrote above two hundred years 
ago, and that the terms then in familiar use are 
now become obsolete. With two such good ex- 
cuses, as want of education, and having written 
above two hundred years before our time, any 
writer may pass muster ; and when to these is 
added the being a sturdy hind of low degree, 
which to three parts of the community in Eng- 
land has a peculiar attraction, one ceases to 
wonder at his supposed popularity ; I say sup- 
posed, for who goes to see his plays, and who, 
except country parsons, or mouthing, stage-struck, 
theatrical amateurs, read them ? " I told Byron 
what really was, and is, my impression, that he 
was not sincere in his depreciation of our immor- 
tal bard ; and I added that I preferred believing 
him insincere, than incapable of judging works, 
which his own writings proved he must, more 
than most other men, feel the beauties of. He 



WITH LORD BYRON. _ 337 

laughed, and replied, " That the compliment I 
paid to his writings was so entirely at the ex- 
pense of his sincerity, that he had no cause to 
be flattered; but that, knowing I was one of 
those that worshipped Shakspeare, he forgave 
me, and would only bargain that I made equal 
allowance for his worship of Pope." I observed, 
H That any comparison between the two was as 
absurd as comparing some magnificent feudal 
castle, surrounded by mountains and forests, with 
foaming cataracts, and boundless lakes, to the 
pretty villa of Pope, with its sheen lawn, arti- 
ficial grotto, stunted trees, and trim exotics." 
He said that my simile was more ingenious than 
just, and hoped that I was prepared to admit 
that Pope was the greatest of all modern poets, 
and a philosopher as well as a poet. I made my 
peace by expressing my sincere admiration of 
Pope, but begged to be understood as refusing to 
admit any comparison between him and Shak- 
speare ; and so the subject ended. Byron is so 
prone to talk for effect, and to assert what he 
does not believe, that one must be cautious in 
giving implicit credence to his opinions. My 
conviction is, that, in spite of his declarations 
to the contrary, he admires Shakspeare as much 
as most of his countrymen do ; but that, unlike 
the generality of them, he sees the blemishes that 
22 



338 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the freedom of the times in which the great poet 
lived led him to indulge in his writings, in a 
stronger point of view; and takes pleasure in 
commenting on them with severity, as a means 
of wounding the vanity of the English. I have 
rarely met with a person more conversant with 
the works of Shakspeare than was Byron. I 
have heard him quote passages from them re- 
peatedly; and in a tone that marked how well 
he appreciated their beauty which certainly lost 
nothing in his delivery of them, as few possessed 
a more harmonious voice or a more elegant pro- 
nunciation than did Byron. Could there be a 
less equivocal proof of his admiration of our im- 
mortal bard than the tenacity with which his 
memory retained the finest passages of all his 

works? When I made this observation to him 

i 

he smiled, and affected to boast that his memory 
was so retentive that it equally retained all that 
he read ; but as I had seen many proofs of the 
contrary, I persevered in affirming what I have 
never ceased to believe, that, in despite of his 
professions to the reverse, Byron was in his heart 
a warm admirer of Shakspeare. 

Byron takes a peculiar pleasure in opposing 
himself to popular opinion on all points ; he 
wishes to be thought as dissenting from the mul- 
titude, and this affectation is the secret source of 



WITH LORD BYRON. 339 

many of the incongruities he expresses. One 
cannot help lamenting that so great a genius 
should be sullied by this weakness ; but he has 
so many redeeming points that we must pardon 
what we cannot overlook, and attribute this error 
to the imperfectibility of human nature. Once 
thoroughly acquainted with his peculiarities, much 
that appeared incomprehensible is explained, and 
one knows when to limit belief to assertions that 
are not always worthy of commanding it, be- 
cause uttered from the caprice of the moment. 
He declares that such is his bad opinion of the 
taste and feelings of the English, that he should 
form a bad opinion of any work that they ad- 
mired, or any person that they praised ; and that 
their admiration of his own works has rather 
confirmed than softened his bad opinion of them. 
" It was the exaggerated praises of the people in 
England," said he, " that indisposed me to the 
Duke of Wellington. I know that the same 
herd, who were trying to make an idol of him, 
would on any reverse, or change of opinions, 
hurl him from the pedestal to which they had 
raised him, and lay their idol in the dust. I 
remember," continued Byron, " enraging some 
of his Grace's worshippers, after the battle 
of Waterloo, by quoting the lines from Ari- 
osto ; — 



340 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

Fu il vincer sembre mai laudadil cosa, 
Vincasi 6 per fortuna 6 per ingregno, 

in answer to their appeal to me, if he was not 
the greatest general that ever existed." 

I told Byron that his quotation was insidious, 
but that the Duke had gained too many victories 
to admit the possibility of any of them being 
achieved more by chance than ability ; and that, 
like his attacks on Shakspeare, he was not sincere 
in disparaging Wellington, as I was sure he must 
au fond be as proud of him as all other English- 
men are. " What!" said Byron, " could a Whig be 
proud of Wellington ! would this be consistent? " 

The whole of Byron's manner, and his coun- 
tenance on this and other occasions, when the 
name of the Duke of Wellington has been men- 
tioned, conveyed the impression, that he had 
not been de bonne foi in his censures on him. 
Byron's words and feelings are so often opposed, 
and both so completely depend on the humor 
of the moment, that those who know him well 
could never attach much confidence to the sta- 
bility of his sentiments, or the force of his ex- 
pressions ; nor could they feel surprised, or angry, 
at hearing that he had spoken unkindly of some 
for whom he really felt friendship. This habit 
of censuring is his ruling passion, and he is now 
too old to correct it. 



WITH LORD BYRON. 341 

"I have been amused," said Byron, "in reading 
' Les Essais de Montaigne,' to find how severe he 
is on the sentiment of tristesse : we are always 
severe on that particular passion to which we are 
not addicted, and the French are exempt from 
this. Montaigne says that the Italians were right 
in translating their word tristezza, which means 
tristesse, into malignite* ; and this," continued 
Byron, " explains my mechancete, for that I am 
subject to tristesse cannot be doubted ; and if 
that means, as Le Sieur de Montaigne states, la 
malig-nite, this is the secret of all my evil doings, 
or evil imaginings, and probably is also the source 
of my inspiration." This idea appeared to amuse 
him very much, and he dwelt on it with apparent 
satisfaction, saying that it absolved him from a 
load of responsibility, as he considered himself, 
according to this, as no more accountable for the 
satires he might write or speak, than for his per- 
sonal deformity. Nature, he said, had to answer 
for malignite as well as for deformity; she gave 
both, and the unfortunate persons on whom she 
bestowed them were not to be blamed for their 
effects. Byron said, that Montaigne was one of 
the French writers that amused him the most, 
as, independently of the quaintness with which 
he made his observations, a perusal of his works 
was like a repetition at school, they rubbed up 



342 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the reader's classical knowledge. He added, that 
" Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy " was also 
excellent, from the quantity of desultory informa- 
tion it contained, and was a mine of knowledge 
that, though much worked, was inexhaustible. I 
told him that he seemed to think more highly of 
Montaigne than did some of his own country- 
men ; for that when Le Cardinal du Perron " ap- 
peloit les Essais de Montaigne le breviaire des 
honnetes gens; le celebre Huet, eveque d'Av- 
ranche, les disoit celui des honnetes paresseux et 
des ignorans, qui veulent s'enfariner de quelque 
teinture des lettres" — Byron said that the critique 
was severe, but just; for that Montaigne was the 
greatest plagiarist that ever existed, and certainly 
had turned his reading to the most account. 
"But," said Byron, "who is the author that is 
not, intentionally or unintentionally, a plagiarist ? 
Many more, I am persuaded, are the latter than 
the former ; for if one has read much, it is diffi- 
cult, if not impossible, to avoid adopting, not 
only the thoughts, but the expressions of others, 
which, after they have been some time stored in 
our minds, appear to us to come forth ready 
formed, like Minerva from the brain of Jupiter, 
and we fancy them our own progeny, instead of 
being those of adoption : I met lately a passage 
in a French book," continued Byron, "that states, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 343 

apropos of plagiaries, that it was from the preface 
to the works of Montaigne, by Mademoiselle de 
Gournay, his adopted daughter, that Pascal stole 
his image of the Divinity: — l C'est un cercle, 
dont la circonference est partout, et le centre 
nulle pari' So you see that even the saintly 
Pascal could steal as well as another, and was 
probably unconscious of the theft. 

" To be perfectly original," continued Byron, 
" one should think much and read little ; and this 
is impossible, as one must have read much before 
one learns to think ; for I have no faith in innate 
ideas, whatever I may have of innate predisposi- 
tions. But after one has laid in a tolerable stock 
of materials for thinking, I should think the best 
plan would be to give the mind time to digest 
it, and then turn it all well over by thought and 
reflection, by which we make the knowledge ac- 
quired our own ; and, on this foundation, we may 
let our originality (if we have any) build a su- 
perstructure, and if not, it supplies our want of 
it to a certain degree. I am accused of plagiar- 
ism," continued Byron, " as I see by the news- 
papers. If I am guilty, I have many partners in 
the crime ; for I assure you I scarcely know a 
living author who might not have a similar charge 
brought against him, and whose thoughts I have 
not occasionally found in the works of others ; so 
that this consoles me. 



344 



JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



" The book you lent me, Dr. Richardson's 
" 6 Travels along the Mediterranean,' " said Byron, 
" is an excellent work. It abounds in information, 
sensibly and unaffectedly conveyed, and, even 
without Lord B.'s praises of the author, would 
have led me to conclude that he was an enlight- 
ened, sensible, and thoroughly good man. He is 
always in earnest," continued Byron, " and never 
writes for effect ; his language is well chosen and 
correct ; and his religious views unaffected and 
sincere, without bigotry. He is just the sort of 
man I should like to have with me for Greece — 
clever, both as a man and a physician ; for I re- 
quire both — one for my mind, and the other for 
my body, which is a little the worse for wear, 
from the bad usage of the troublesome tenant 
that has inhabited it, God help me! 

" It is strange," said Byron, " how seldom one 
meets with clever, sensible men in the professions 
of divinity or physic ! and yet they are precisely 
the professions that most peculiarly demand intel- 
ligence and ability — and to keep the soul and 
body in good health requires no ordinary talents. 
I have, I confess, as little faith in medicine as 
Napoleon had. I think it has many remedies, 
but few specifics. I do not know if we arrived 
at the same conclusion by the same road. Mine 
has been drawn from observing that the medical 



WITH LORD BYRON. 345 

men who fell in my way were, in general, so defi- 
cient in ability, that, even had the science of 
medicine been fifty times more simplified than it 
ever will be in our time, they had not intelligence 
enough to comprehend or reduce it to practice, 
which has given me a much greater dread of 
remedies than diseases. Medical men do not 
sufficiently attend to idiosyncrasy," continued 
Byron, " on which so much depends, and often 
hurry to the grave one patient by a treatment 
that has succeeded with another. The moment 
they ascertain a disease to be the same as one 
they have known, they conclude the same reme- 
dies that cured the first must remove the second, 
not making allowance for the peculiarities of 
temperament, habits, and dispositions ; which 
last has a great influence in maladies. All that 
I have seen of physicians has given me a dread 
of them, which dread will continue until I have 
met a doctor like your friend Richardson, who 
proves himself to be a sensible and intelligent 
man. I maintain," continued Byron, " that more 
than half our maladies are produced by accus- 
toming ourselves to more sustenance than is re- 
quired for the support of nature. We put too 
much oil into the lamp, and it blazes and burns 
out ; but if we only put enough to feed the flame, 
it burns brightly and steadily. We have, God 



346 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

knows, sufficient alloy in our compositions, with- 
out reducing them still nearer to the brute, by 
overfeeding. I think that one of the reasons 
why women are, in general, so much better than 
men — for I do think they are, whatever I may 
say to the contrary," continued Byron, " is, that 
they do not indulge in gourmandise as men do ; 
and, consequently, do not labor under the com- 
plicated horrors that indigestion produces, which 
had such a dreadful eject on the tempers, as I 
have both witnessed and felt. 

" There is nothing I so much dread as flat- 
tery," said Byron ; " not that I mean to say I 
dislike it — for, on the contrary, if well adminis- 
tered, it is very agreeable — but I dread it, because 
I know, from experience, we end by disliking 
those we flatter ; it is the mode we take to 
avenge ourselves, for stooping to the humilia- 
tion of flattering them. On this account, I never 
flatter those I really like ; and, also, I should be 
fearful and jealous of owing their regard for me 
to the pleasure my flattery gave them. I am' not 
so forbearing with those I am indifferent about ; 
for, seeing how much people like flattery, I can- 
not resist giving them some, and it amuses me 
to see how they swallow even the largest doses. 

Now, there is and ; who could live 

on passable terms with them, that did not ad- 



WITH LOED BYKON. 347 

minister to their vanity ? One tells you all his 
bonnes fortunes^ and would never forgive you if 
you appeared to be surprised at their extent ; and 
the other talks to you of prime ministers and 
dukes by their surnames, and cannot state the 
most simple fact or occurrence without telling 
you that Wellington or Devonshire told him so. 
" One does not," continued Byron, " meet this last 
foiblesse out of England, and not then, I must 
admit, except among pafvenus. 

" It is doubtful which, vanity or conceit, is the 
most offensive," said Byron ; " but I think con- 
ceit is, because the gratification of vanity depends 
on the suffrages of others, to gain which, vain 
people must endeavor to please ; but as conceit 
is content with its own approbation, it makes no 
sacrifice, and is not susceptible of humiliation. 
I confess that I have a spiteful pleasure," con- 
tinued Byron, " in mortifying conceited people ; 
and the gratification is enhanced by the difficulty 
of the task. One of the reasons why I dislike 
society is, that its contact excites all the evil 
qualities of my nature, which, like the fire in 
the flint, can only be elicited by friction. My 
philosophy is more theoretical than practical ; it 
is never at hand when I want it ; and the puerile 
passions that I witness in those whom I encoun- 
ter excite disgust when examined near, though, 



348 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

viewed at a distance, they only create pity ; — 
that is to say, in simple, homely truth," contin- 
ued Byron, " the follies of mankind, when they 
touch me not, I can be lenient to, and moralize 
on ; but if they rub against my own, there is an 
end to the philosopher. We are all better in sol- 
itude, and more especially if we are tainted with 
evil passions, which, God help us ! we all are, 
more or less," said Byron. " They are not then 
brought into action ; reason and reflection have 
time and opportunity to resume that influence 
over us, which they rarely can do if we are act- 
ors in the busy scene of life ; and we grow better, 
because we believe ourselves better. Our pas- 
sions often only sleep, when we suppose them 
dead ; and we are not convinced of our mistake, 
till they are awake with renewed strength, gained 
by repose. We are, therefore, wise when we 
choose solitude, where * passions sleep and reason 
wakes ; ' for, if we cannot conquer the evil quali- 
ties that adhere to our nature, we do well to en- 
courage their slumber. Like cases of acute pain, 
when the physician cannot remove the malady, 
he administers soporifics. 

" When I recommend solitude," said Byron, 
" I do not mean the solitude of country neighbor- 
hood, where people pass their time a dire, redire, 
et medire. No ! I mean a regular retirement, 



WITH LOED BYKON. 349 

with a woman that one loves, and interrupted 
only by a correspondence with a man that one 
esteems, though if we put plural of man, it would 
be more agreeable for the correspondence. By 
this means, friendships would not be subject to 
the variations and estrangements that are so often 
caused by a frequent personal intercourse ; and 
we might delude ourselves into a belief that they 
were sincere, and might be lasting — two difficult 
articles of faith in my creed of friendship. Soc- 
rates and Plato," continued Byron, " ridiculed 
Laches, who defined fortitude to consist in re- 
maining firm in the ranks opposed to the enemy , 
and I agree with those philosophers in thinking 
that a retreat is not inglorious, whether from the 
enemy in the field or in the town, if one feels 
one's own weakness, and anticipates a defeat. I 
feel that society is my enemy, in even more than 
a figurative sense ; I have not fled, but retreated 
from it ; and if solitude has not made me better, 
I am sure it has prevented my becoming worse, 
which is a point gained. 

" Have you ever observed," said Byron, " the 
extreme dread that parvenus have of aught that 
approaches to vulgarity ? In manners, letters, 
conversation, nay, even in literature, they are 
always superfine ; and a man of birth would un- 
consciously hazard a thousand dubious phrases 



350 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

sooner than a parvenu would risk the possibility 
of being suspected of one. One of the many 
advantages of birth is, that it saves one from this 
hypocritical gentility; and he of noble blood may 
be natural, without the fear of being accused of 
vulgarity. I have left an assembly filled with all 
the names of haul ton in London, and where lit- 
tle but names were to be found, to seek relief 
from the ennui that overpowered me, in a — cider 
cellar; — are you not shocked? — and have found 
there more food for speculation than in the vapid 

circles of glittering dulness I had left. or 

dared not have done this ; but I had the 

patent of nobility to carry me through it ; and 
what would have been deemed originality and 
spirit in me, would have been considered a nat- 
ural bias to vulgar habits in them. In my works, 
too, I have dared to pass the frozen molehills — I 
cannot call them Alps, though they are frozen 
eminences — of high life, and have used common 
thoughts and common words to express my im- 
pressions, where poor would have clarified 

each thought, and double-refined each sentence, 
until he had reduced them to the polished and 
cold temperature of the illuminated houses of ice 
that he loves to frequent ; which have always 
reminded me of the palace of ice built to please 
an empress, cold, glittering, and costly. But I 



WITH LORD BYRON. 351 

suppose that and like them, from the 

same cause that I like high life below stairs, not 
being born to it ; — there is a good deal in this. 
I have been abused for dining at Tom Cribb's, 
where I certainly was amused, and have returned 
from a dinner where the guests were composed 
of the magnates of the land, where I had nigh 
gone to sleep ; at least, my intellect slumbered — 
so dullified was I and those around me, by the 
soporofic quality of the conversation, if conver- 
sation it might be called. For a long time I 
thought it was my constitutional melancholy that 
made me think London society so insufferably 
tiresome ; but I discovered that those who had 
no such malady found it equally so ;' the only 
difference was, that they yawned under the 
nightly inflictions, yet still continued to bear 
them, while I writhed, and ' muttered curses not 
loud but deep ' against the well-dressed automa- 
tons that threw a spell over my faculties, making 
me doubt if I could any longer feel or think ; and 
I have sought the solitude of my chamber, almost 
doubting my own identity, or, at least, my san- 
ity ; such was the overpowering effect produced 
on me by exclusive society in London. Madame 
de Stael was the only person of talent I ever 
knew who was not overcome by it ; but this was 
owing to the constant state of excitement she 



352 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

was kept in by her extraordinary self-compla- 
cency, and the mystifications of the dandies, who 
made her believe all sorts of things. I have seen 
her entranced by them, listening with undisguised 
delight to exaggerated compliments, uttered only 
to hoax her, by persons incapable of appreciating 
her genius, and who doubted its existence from 
the facility with which she received mystifications 
which would have been detected in a moment by 
the most commonplace woman in the room. It 
is thus genius and talent are judged of," contin- 
ued Byron, " by those who, having neither, are 
incapable of understanding them ; and a punster 
may glory in puzzling a genius of the first order, 
by a play on words that was below his comprehen- 
sion, though suited to that of the most ordinary 
understandings. Madame de Stael had no tact ; 
she would believe any thing, merely because she 
did not take the trouble to examine, being too 
much occupied with self; and often said the most 
mal a propos things, because she was thinking not 
of the person she addressed, but of herself. She 
had a party to dine with her one day in London, 

when Sir James and Lady entered the 

drawing-room, the lady dressed in a green gown, 
with a shawl of the same verdant hue, and a 
bright red turban. Madame de Stael marched 
up to her in her eager manner, and exclaimed, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 353 

'Ah, mon Dieu, miladi ! comme vous ressemblez 
a un perroquet ! ' The poor lady looked con- 
founded ; the company tried, but in vain, to sup- 
press the smiles the observation excited ; but all 
felt that the making it betrayed a total want of 
tact in the Corinne." 

" Does the cant of sentiment still continue in 
England ? " asked Byron. " < Childe Harold ' 
called it forth ; but my ' Juan ' was well calcu- 
lated to cast it into shade, and had that merit, 
if it had no other ; but I must not refer to the 
Don, as that, I remember, is a prohibited subject 
between us. Nothing sickens me so completely," 
said Byron, " as women who affect sentiment in 
conversation. A woman without sentiment is 
not a woman ; but I have observed, that those 
who most display it in words have least of the 
reality. Sentiment, like love and grief, should be 
reserved for privacy ; and when I hear women 
affichant their sentimentality, I look upon it as an 
allegorical mode of declaring their wish of find- 
ing an object on whom they could bestow its 
superfluity. I am of a jealous nature," said By- 
ron, " and should wish to call slumbering sen- 
timent into life in the woman I love, instead of 
finding that I was chosen from its excess and 
activity rendering a partner in the firm indispen- 
sable. I should hate a woman," continued By- 



354 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

ron, " who could laugh at or ridicule sentiment, 
as I should, and do, women who have not relig- 
ious feelings; and much as I dislike bigotry, I 
think it a thousand times more pardonable in a 
woman than irreligion. There is something un- 
feminine in the want of religion, that takes off 
the peculiar charm of woman. It inculcates 
mildness, forbearance, and charity — those graces 
that adorn them more than all others," continued 
Byron, " and whose beneficent effects are felt, not 
only on their minds and manners, but are visible 
in their countenances, to which they give their 
own sweet character. But when I say that I 
admire religion in women," said Byron, " don't 
fancy that I like sectarian ladies, distributors of 
tracts, armed and ready for controversies, many 
of whom only preach religion, but do not prac- 
tise it. No ; I like to know that it is the guide 
of woman's actions, the softener of her words, 
the soother of her cares, and those of all dear to 
her, who are comforted by her — that it is, in short, 
the animating principle, to which all else is re- 
ferred. When I see women professing religion, 
and violating its duties — mothers turning from 
erring daughters, instead of staying to reclaim — 
sisters deserting sisters, whom, in their hearts, 
they know to be more pure than themselves — 
and wives abandoning husbands, on the ground 



WITH LOED BYRON. 355 

of faults that they should have wept over, and 
redeemed by the force of love — then it is," con- 
tinued Byron, " that I exclaim against the cant 
of false religion, and laugh at the credulity of 
those who can reconcile such conduct with the 
dictates of a creed that ordains forgiveness, and 
commands that ' if a man be overtaken in a fault, 
ye which are spiritual restore such a one in the 
spirit of meekness ; considering thyself, lest thou 
also be tempted ; ' and that tells a wife, that ' if 
she hath a husband that believeth not, and if he 
be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave 
him. For the unbelieving husband is sanctified 
by the wife,' &c. Now, people professing relig- 
ion, either believe, or do not believe, such creeds," 
continued Byron. " If they believe, and act con- 
trary to their belief, what avails their religion, 
except to throw discredit on its followers, by 
showing that they practise not its tenets ? and 
if they inwardly disbelieve, as their conduct 
would lead one to think, are they not guilty of 
hypocrisy ? It is such incongruities between the 
professions and conduct of those who affect to 
be religious, that puts me out of patience," con- 
tinued Byron, " and makes me wage war with 
cant, and not, as many suppose, a disbelief or 
want of faith in religion. I want to see it prac- 
tised, and to know, which is soon made known 



356 



JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 



by the conduct, that it dwells in the heart, in- 
stead of being on the lips only of its votaries. 
Let me not be told that the mothers, sisters, 
and wives, who violate the duties such relation- 
ships impose, are good and religious people ; let 
it be admitted that a mother, sister, or wife, 
who deserts, instead of trying to lead back, the 
stray sheep to the flock, cannot be truly religious, 
and I shall exclaim no more against hypocrisy 
and cant, because they will no longer be danger- 
ous. Poor Mrs. Sheppard tried more and did 
more to reclaim me," continued Byron, " than 

; but no ; as I have been preaching religion, 

I shall practise one of its tenets, and be charita- 
ble ; so I shall not finish the sentence." 

It appears to me that Byron has reflected 
much on religion, and that many, if not all, 
the doubts and sarcasms he has expressed on it 
are to be attributed only to his enmity against 
its false worshippers. He is indignant at seeing 
people professing it governed wholly by worldly 
principles in their conduct ; and fancies that he 
is serving the true cause, by exposing the votaries 
that he thinks dishonor it. He forgets that in 
so exposing and decrying them, he is breaking 
through the commandments of charity he ad- 
mires, and says ought to govern our actions 
towards our erring brethren ; but that he reflects 



WITH LORD BYRON. 357 

deeply on the subject of religion and its duties, 
is, I hope, a step gained in the right path, in 
which, I trust, he will continue to advance ; and 
which step I attribute, as does he, to the effect 
the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard had on his mind, 
and which, it is evident, has made a lasting im- 
pression, by the frequency and seriousness with 
which he refers to it. 

" There are two blessings, of which people 
never know the value until they have lost them," 
said Byron, " health and reputation. And not 
only is their loss destructive to our own happi- 
ness, but injurious to the peace and comfort of 
our friends. Health seldom goes, without tem- 
per accompanying it ; and, that fled, we become 
a burden on the patience of those around us, 
until dislike replaces pity and forbearance. Loss 
of reputation entails still greater evils. In losing 
caste, deservedly or otherwise," continued Byron, 
" we become reckless and misanthropic ; we can- 
not sympathize with those, from whom we are 
separated by the barrier of public opinion, and 
pride becomes ' the scorpion, girt by fire,' that 
turns on our own breast the sting prepared for 
our enemies. Shakspeare says, that 'it is a bit- 
ter thing to look into happiness through another 
man's eyes;' and this must he do," 'said Byron, 
" who has lost his reputation. Nay, rendered 



l^ 



358 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

nervously sensitive by the falseness of his posi- 
tion, he sees, or fancies he sees, scorn or avoid- 
ance in the eyes of all he encounters ; and, as it 
is well known that we are never so jealous of 
the respect of others as when we have forfeited 
our own, every mark of coldness or disrespect he 
meets with arouses a host of angry feelings, that 
prey upon his peace. Such a man is to be 
feared," continued Byron ; " and yet how many 
such have the world made ! how many errors 
have not slander and calumny magnified into 
crimes of the darkest die! and malevolence and 
injustice having set the condemned seal on the 
reputation of him who has been judged without 
a trial, he is driven without the pale of society, a 
sense of injustice rankling in his heart ; and if 
his hand be not against each man, the hand, or 
at least the tongue, of each man is against him. 
The genius and powers of such a man," contin- 
ued Byron, " act but as fresh incitements to the 
unsated malice of his calumniators ; and the 
fame they win is but as the flame that con- 
sumes the funeral pile, whose blaze attracts at- 
tention to the substance that feeds it. Medioc- 
rity is to be desired, for those who lose caste, 
because if it gains not pardon for errors, it sinks 
them into oblivion. But genius," continued By- 
ron, " reminds the enemies of its possessor of his 



WITH LORD BYRON. 359 

existence, and of their injustice. They are en- 
raged that he, on whom they heaped obloquy, 
can surmount it, and elevate himself on new 
ground, where their malice cannot obstruct his 
path." 

It was impossible not to see that his own posi- 
tion had led Byron to these reflections ; and on ob- 
serving the changes in his expressive countenance 
while uttering them, who could resist pitying 
the morbid feelings which had given them birth ? 
The milk and honey that flowed in his breast has 
been turned into gall by the bitterness with which 
his errors have been assailed ; but even now, so 
much of human kindness remains in his nature, 
that I am persuaded the effusions of wounded 
pride which embody themselves in the biting 
satires that escape from him, are more productive 
of pain to him who writes, than to those on 
whom they are written. Knowing Byron as I 
do, I could forgive the most cutting satire his pen 
ever traced, because I know the bitter feelings and 
violent reaction which led to it ; and that, in thus 
avenging some real or imagined injury on indi- 
viduals, he looks on them as a part of that great 
whole, of which that world which he has waged 
war with, and that he fancies has waged war with 
him, is composed. He looks on himself like a 
soldier in action, who, without any individual re- 



360 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

sentment, strikes at all within his reach, as com- 
ponent parts of the force to which he is opposed. 
If this be indefensible, and all must admit that it 
is so, let us be merciful even while we are con- 
demning ; and let us remember what must have 
been the heart-aches and 'corroding thoughts of a 
mind so sensitive as Byron's, ere the last weapons 
of despair were resorted to, and the fearful sally, 
the forlorn hope attack, on the world's opinions, 
made while many of those opinions had partisans 
within his own breast, even while he stood in the 
last breach of defeated hope, to oppose them. 
The poison in which he has dipped the arrows 
aimed at the world has long been preying on his 
own life, and has been produced by the deleteri- 
ous draughts administered by that world, and 
which he has quaffed to the dregs, until it has 
turned the once healthful current of his existence 
into deadly venom, poisoning all the fine and gen- 
erous qualities that adorned his nature. He feels 
what he might have been, and what he is, and 
detests the world that has marred his destiny. 
But, as the passions lose their empire, he will 
think differently : the veil which now obscures 
his reason will pass away, like clouds dispelled 
by the sun; he w T ill learn to distinguish much of 
good, where he has hitherto seen only evil ; and 
no longer braving the world, and, to enrage it, 



WITH LOED BYRON. 361 

assuming faults he has not, he will let the good 
qualities he has make themselves known, and gain 
that good-will and regard they were formed to 
conciliate. 

" I often, in imagination, pass over a long lapse 
of years," said Byron, "'and console myself for 
present privations, in anticipating the time when 
my daughter will know me by reading my works ; 
for, though the hand of prejudice may conceal my 
portrait from her eyes, it cannot hereafter conceal 
my thoughts and feelings, which will talk to her 
when he to whom they belonged has ceased to 
exist. The triumph will then be mine ; and the 
tears that my child will drop over expressions 
wrung from me by mental agony — the certainty 
that she will enter into the sentiments which 
dictated the various allusions to her and myself 
in my works — consoles me in many a gloomy 
hour. Ada's mother has feasted on the smiles of 
her infancy and growth, but the tears of her ma- 
turity shall be mine." 

I thought it a good opportunity to represent to 
Byron, that this thought alone should operate to 
prevent his ever writing a page which could bring 
the blush of offended modesty to the cheek of his 
daughter ; and that if he hoped to live in her 
heart, unsullied by aught that could abate her 
admiration, he ought never more to write a line 



362 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

of " Don Juan." He remained silent for some 
minutes, and then said, " You are right : I never 
recollected this. I am jealously tenacious of the 
undivided sympathy of my daughter ; and that 
work, (' Don Juan,') written to beguile hours of 
tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to 
loosen my hold on her affection. I will write 
no more of it — would that I had never written a 
line ! " 

There is something tender and beautiful in the 
deep love with which poor Byron turns to his 
poor daughter. This is his last resting-place, and 
on her heart has he cast his last anchor of hope. 
When one reflects that he looks not to consola- 
tion from her during his life, as he believes her 
mother implacable, and only hopes that, when 
the grave has closed over him, his child will 
cherish his memory, and weep over his misfor- 
tunes, it is impossible not to sympathize with his 
feelings. Poor Byron ! why is he not always 
true to himself? Who can, like him, excite sym- 
pathy, even when one knows him to be erring ? 
But he shames one out of one's natural and 
better feelings by his mockery of self. Alas ! 

His is a lofty spirit, turn'd aside 

From its bright path by woes, and wrongs, and pride ; 

And onward in its new tumultuous course, 

Borne with too rapid and intense a force 






WITH LOED BYRON. 363 

To pause one moment in the dread career, 
And ask — if such could be its native sphere V 

How unsatisfactory is it to find one's feelings 
with regard to Byron's varying every day ! This 
is because he is never two days the same. The 
day after he has awakened the deepest interest, 
his manner of scoffing at himself and others de- 
stroys it, and one feels as if one had been duped 
into a sympathy, only to be laughed at. 

" I have been accused," said Byron, " of thinking 
ill of women. This has proceeded from my sar- 
castic observations on them in conversation, much 
more than from what I have written. The fact 
is, I always say whatever comes into my head, 
and very often say things to provoke people to 
whom I am talking. If I meet a romantic per- 
son, with what I call a too exalted opinion of 
women, I have a peculiar satisfaction in speaking 
lightly of them ; not out of pique to your sex, 
but to mortify their champion ; as I always con- 
clude, that when a man overpraises women, he 
does it to convey the impression of how much 
they must have favored him, to have won such 
gratitude towards them ; whereas there is such 
an abnegation of vanity in a poor devil's decrying 
women — it is such a proof positive that they 
never distinguished him — that I can overlook it. 
People take for gospel all I say, and go away 



364 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

continually with false impressions. Mais nHm- 
porte ! it will render the statements of my future 
biographers more amusing ; as I flatter myself I 
shall have more than one. Indeed, the more the 
merrier, say I. One will represent me as a sort 
of sublime misanthrope, with moments of kind 
feeling. This, par ex&mple, is my favorite role. 
Another will portray me as a modern Don Juan ; 
and a third (as it would be hard if a votary of the 
Muses had less than the number of the Graces for 
his biographers) will, it is to be hoped, if only for 
opposition sake, represent me as an amiable, ill- 
used gentleman, ' more sinned against than sin- 
ning.' Now, if I know myself, I should say, that 
I have no character at all. By the by, this is 
what has long been said, as I lost mine, as an 
Irishman w T ould say, before I had it ; that is to 
say, my reputation was gone according to the 
good-natured English, before I had arrived at 
years of discretion, which is the period one is 
supposed to have found one. But, joking apart, 
what I think of myself is, that I am so change- 
able, being every thing by turns and nothing long 
— I am such a strange melange of good and evil, 
that it would be difficult to describe me. There 
are but two sentiments to which I am constant — 
a strong love of liberty, and a detestation of cant, 
and neither is calculated to gain me friends. I 



WITH LOED BYRON. 365 

am of a wayward, uncertain disposition, more dis- 
posed to display the defects than the redeeming 
points in my nature ; this, at least proves that I 
understand mankind, for they are always ready 
to believe the evil, but not the good ; and there is 
no crime of which I could accuse myself, for 
which they would not give me implicit credit. 
What do you think of me ? " asked he, looking 
seriously in my face. 

I replied, " I look on you as a spoilt child of 
genius, an epicycle in your own circle." At 
which he laughed, though half disposed to be 
angry. 

" I have made as many sacrifices to liberty," 
continued Byron, " as most people of my age ; 
and the one I am about to undertake is not the 
least, though, probably, it will be the last; for, 
with my broken health, and the chances of war, 
Greece will most likely terminate my mortal 
career. I like Italy, its climate, its customs, and, 
above all, its freedom from cant of every kind, 
which is the primum mobile of England : there- 
fore it is no slight sacrifice of comfort to give up 
the tranquil life I lead here, and break through 
the ties I have formed, to engage in a cause, for 
the successful result of which I have no very 
sanguine hopes. You will think me more super- 
stitious than ever," said Byron, " when I tell you, 



366 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

that I have a presentiment that I shall die in 
Greece. I hope it may be in action, for that 
would be a good finish to a very triste existence, 
and I have a horror to death-bed scenes ; but as I 
have not been famous for my luck in life, most 
probably I shall not have more in the manner 
of my death, and that I may draw my last sigh, 
not on the field of glory, but on the bed of dis- 
ease. I very nearly died when I was in Greece 
in my youth ; perhaps as things have turned out, 
it would have been well if I had : I should have 
lost nothing, and the world very little, and I 
would have escaped many cares, for God knows 
I have had enough of one kind or another : but I 
am getting gloomy, and looking either back or 
forward is not calculated to enliven me. One of 
the reasons why I quiz my friends in conversa- 
tion is, that it keeps me from thinking of myself: 
you laugh, but it is true." 

Byron had so unquenchable a thirst for celeb- 
rity, that no means were left untried that might 
attain it : this frequently led to his expressing 
opinions totally at variance with his actions and 
real sentiments, and vice versd, and made him 
appear quite inconsistent and puerile. There was 
no sort of celebrity that he did not, at some 
period or other, condescend to seek, and he was 
not over nice in the means, provided he obtained 



WITH LOED BYRON. 367 

the end. This weakness it was that led him to 
accord his society to many persons whom he 
thought unworthy the distinction, fancying that 
he might find a greater facility in astonishing 
them, which he had a childish propensity to do, 
than with those who were more on an equality 
with him. When I say persons that he thought 
unworthy of his society, I refer only to their sta- 
tions in life, and not to their merits, as the first 
was the criterion by which Byron was most prone 
to judge them, never being able to conquer the 
overweening prejudices in favor of aristocracy 
that subjugated him. He expected a deferential 
submission to his opinions from those whom he 
thought he honored by admitting to his society ; 
and if they did not seem duly impressed with a 
sense of his condescension, as well as astonished 
at the versatility of his powers and accomplish- 
ments, he showed his dissatisfaction by assuming 
an air of superiority, and by opposing their opin- 
ions in a dictatorial tone, as if from his fiat there 
was no appeal. If, on the contrary, they appeared 
willing to admit his superiority in all- respects, he 
was kind, playful and good-humored, and only 
showed his own sense of it by familiar jokes, 
and attempts at hoaxing, to which he was greatly 
addicted. 

An extraordinary peculiarity in Byron was his 



368 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

constant habit of disclaiming friendships, a habit 
that must have been rather humiliating to those 
who prided themselves on being considered his 
friends. He invariably, in conversing about the 
persons supposed to stand in that relation to him, 
drew a line of demarcation ; and Lord Clare, with 
Mr. Hobhouse and Moore, were the only persons 
he allowed to be within its pale. Long acquaint- 
ance, habitual correspondence, and reciprocity of 
kind actions, which are the general bonds of 
friendship, were not admitted by Byron to be 
sufficient claims to the title of friend ; and he 
seized with avidity every opportunity of denying 
this relation with persons for whom, I am per- 
suaded, he felt the sentiment, and to whom he 
would not have hesitated to have given all proof 
but the name, yet who, wanting this, could not 
consistently with delicacy receive aught else. 

This habit of disclaiming friendships was very 
injudicious in Byron, as it must have wounded 
the amour propre of those who liked him, and 
humiliated the pride and delicacy of all whom he 
had ever laid under obligations, as well as freed 
from a sense of what was due to friendship, those 
who restrained by the acknowledgment of that 
tie, might have proved themselves his zealous 
defenders and advocates. It was his aristocratic 
pride that prompted this ungracious conduct, and 



WITH LORD BYRON. 369 

I remember telling him, apropos to his denying 
friendships, that all the persons with whom he 
disclaimed them, must have less vanity, and more 
kindness of nature, than fall to the lot of most 
people, if they did not renounce the sentiment, 
which he disdained to acknowledge, and give 
him proofs that it no longer operated on them. 
His own morbid sensitiveness did not incline him 
to be more merciful to that of others ; it seemed, 
on the contrary, to render him less so, as if every 
feeling was concentrated in self alone, and yet 
this egoist was capable of acts of generosity, 
kindness, and pity for the unfortunate : but he 
appeared to think, that the physical ills of others 
were those alone which he was called on to sym- 
pathize with ; their moral ailments he entered 
not into, as he considered his own to be too 
elevated to admit of any reciprocity with those 
of others. The immeasurable difference between 
his genius and that of all others he encountered 
had given him a false estimate of their feelings 
and characters ; they could not, like him, embody 
their feelings in language that found an echo in 
every breast, and hence he concluded they have 
neither the depth nor refinement of his. He for- 
got that this very power of sending forth his 
thoughts disburthened him of much of their bit- 
terness, while others, wanting it, felt but the more 

24 



370 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

poignantly what is unshared and unexpressed. I 
have told Byron that he added ingratitude to his 
other faults, by scoffing at, and despising his 
countrymen, who have shared all his griefs, and 
enjoyed all his biting pleasantries; he has sound- 
ed the diapason of his own feelings, and found the 
concord in theirs, which proves a sympathy he 
cannot deny, and ought not to mock : he says, 
that he values not their applauses or sympathy ; 
that he who describes passions and crimes, touches 
chords, which vibrate in every breast; not that 
either pity or interest is felt for him who submits 
to this moral anatomy, but that each discovers 
the symptoms of his own malady and feels and 
thinks only of self, while analyzing the griefs or 
pleasures of another. 

When Byron had been one day repeating to 
me some epigrams and lampoons, in which many 
of his friends were treated with great severity, I 
observed that, in case he died, and that these 
proofs of friendship came before the public, what 
would be the feelings of those so severely dealt 
by, and who previously had indulged the agree- 
able illusion of being high in his good graces ! 

" That," said Byron, " is precisely one of the 
ideas which most amuses me. I often fancy the 
rage and humiliation of my quondam friends at 
hearing the truth (at least from me) for the first 



WITH LORD BYRON. 371 

time, and when I am beyond the reach of their 
malice. Each individual will enjoy the sarcasms 
against his friends, but that will not console him 
for those against himself. Knowing the affec- 
tionate dispositions of my soi-disant friends, and 
the mortal chagrin my death would occasion them, 
I have written my thoughts of each, purely as a 
consolation for them in case they survive me. 
Surely this is philanthropic, for a more effectual 
means of destroying all regret for the dead could 
hardly be found than discovering, after their de- 
cease, memorials in which the surviving friends 
were treated with more sincerity than flattery. 
What grief," continued Byron, laughing while he 
spoke, "could resist the charges of ugliness, dul- 
ness, or any of the thousand nameless defects, 
personal or mental, to which flesh is heir, coming 
from one ostentatiously loved, lamented, and de- 
parted, and when reprisals or recantations are 
impossible ! Tears would soon be dried, lamen- 
tations and eulogiums changed to reproaches, and 
many faults would be discovered in the dear de- 
parted that had previously escaped detection. If 
half the observations," said Byron, " which friends 
make on each other were written down instead of 
being said, how few would remain on terms of 
friendship ! People are in such daily habits of 
commenting on the defects of friends, that they 






372 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

are unconscious of the unkindness of it; which 
only comes home to their business and bosoms 
when they discover that they have been so treated, 
which proves that self is the only medium for 
feeling or judging of, or for, others. Now I write 
down, as well as speak, my sentiments of those 
who believe that they have gulled me ; and I only 
wish (in case I die before them) that I could re- 
turn to witness the effect my posthumous opin- 
ions of them are likely to produce on their minds. 
What good fun this would be ! Is it not disin- 
terested in me to lay up this source of consola- 
tion for my friends, whose grief for my loss might 
otherwise be too acute ? You don't seem to value 
it as you ought," continued Byron, with one of 
his sardonic smiles, seeing that I looked, as I 
really felt, surprised to his avowed insincerity. 
" I feel the same pleasure in anticipating the rage 
and mortification of my soi-disant friends, at the 
discovery of my real sentiments of them, that a 
miser may be supposed to feel while making a 
will that is to disappoint all the expectants who 
have been toadying him for years. Then only 
think how amusing it will be, to compare my 
posthumous with my previously given opinions, 
one throwing ridicule on the other. This will be 
delicious," said he, rubbing his hands, " and the 
very anticipation of it charms me. Now this, by 



WITH LOED BYRON. 373 

your grave face, you are disposed to call very 
wicked, nay, more, very mean ; but wicked or 
mean, or both united, it is human nature, or at 
least my nature." 

Should various poems of Byron that I have 
seen ever meet the public eye, and this is by no 
means unlikely, they will furnish a better criterion 
for judging his real sentiments than all the notices 
of him that have yet appeared. 

Each day that brought Byron nearer to the pe- 
riod fixed on for his departure for Greece seemed 
to render him still more reluctant to undertake it. 
He frequently expressed a wish to return to Eng- 
land, if only for a few weeks, before he embarked, 
and yet had not firmness of purpose sufficient to 
carry his wishes into effect. There was a help- 
lessness about Byron, a sort of abandonment of 
himself to his destiny, as he called it, that com- 
monplace people can as little pity as understand. 
His purposes in visiting England, previous to 
Greece, were vague and undefined, even to him- 
self; but from various observations that he let fall, 
I imagined that he hoped to establish something 
like an amicable understanding, or correspondence, 
with Lady Byron, and to see his child, which last 
desire had become a fixed one in his mind. He 
so often turned with a yearning heart to his wish 
of going to England before Greece, that we asked 



374 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

him why, being a free agent, he did not go. The 
question seemed to embarrass him. He stam- 
mered, blushed, and said, — 

" Why, true, there is no reason why I should 
not go ; but yet I want resolution to encounter 
all the disagreeable circumstances which might, 
and most probably would, greet my arrival in 
England. The host of foes that now slumber, 
because they believe me out of their reach, and 
that their stings cannot touch me, would soon 
awake with renewed energies to assail and blacken 
me. The press, that powerful engine of a licen- 
tious age, (an engine known only in civilized 
England as an invader of the privacy of domes- 
tic life,) would pour forth all its venom against 
me, ridiculing my person, misinterpreting my mo- 
tives, and misrepresenting my actions. I can 
mock at all these attacks when the sea divides me 
from them, but on the spot, and reading the effect 
of each libel in the alarmed faces of my selfishly- 
sensitive friends, whose common attentions, under 
such circumstances, seem to demand gratitude for 
the personal risk of abuse incurred by a contact 
with the attacked delinquent — No, this I could 
not stand, because I once endured it, and never 
have forgotten what I felt under the infliction. 1 
wish to see Lady Byron and my child, because I 
firmly believe I shall never return from Greece, 



WITH LORD BYRON. 375 

and that I anxiously desire to forgive and be for- 
given, by the former, and to embrace Ada. It is 
more than probable," continued Byron, " that the 
same amiable consistency — to call it by no harsher 
name — which has hitherto influenced Lady B.'s 
adherence to the line she has adopted, of refusing 
all explanation, or attempt at reconciliation, would 
still operate on her conduct. My letters would be 
returned unopened, my daughter would be pre- 
vented from seeing me, and any step, I might, 
from affection, be forced to take to assert my right 
of seeing her once more before I left England, 
would be misrepresented as an act of the most 
barbarous tyranny and presecution towards the 
mother and child ; and I should be driven again 
from the British shore, more vilified, and with 
even greater ignominy, than on the separation. 
Such is my idea of the justice of public opinion 
in England," continued Byron, " and, with such 
woful experience as I have had, can you wonder 
that I dare not encounter the annoyances I have 
detailed? But if I live, and return from Greece 
with something better and higher than the reputa- 
tion or glory of a poet, opinions may change, as 
the successful are always judged favorably of in 
our country; my laurels may cover my faults 
better than the bays have done, and give a to- 
tally different reading to my thoughts, words, and 
deeds." 



376 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

With such various forms of pleasing as rarely 
fall to the lot of man, Byron possessed the coun- 
terbalance to an extraordinary degree, as he could 
disenchant his admirers almost as quickly as he 
had won their admiration. He was too observant 
not to discover, at a glance, the falling off in the 
admiration of those around him, and resented as 
an injury the decrease in their esteem, which a 
little consideration for their feelings, and some 
restraint in the expression of his own, would have 
prevented. Sensitive, jealous, and exigent him- 
self, he had no sympathy or forbearance for those 
weaknesses in others. He claimed admiration 
not only for his genius, but for his defects, as a 
sort of right that appertained solely to him. He 
was conscious of his foiblesse, but wanted either 
the power or inclination to correct it, and was 
deeply offended if others appeared to have made 
the discovery. 

There was a sort of mental reservation in 
Byron's intercourse with those with whom he 
was on habits of intimacy that he had not tact 
enough to conceal, and which was more offensive 
when the natural flippancy of his manner was 
taken into consideration. His incontinence of 
speech on subjects of a personal nature, and with 
regard to the defects of friends, rendered this 
display of reserve on other points still more offen- 



WITH LORD BYRON. 377 

sive ; as, after having disclosed secrets which 
left him, and some of those whom he professed 
to like, at the mercy of the discretion of the 
person confided in, he would absolve him from 
the best motive for secrecy — that of implied con- 
fidence — by disclaiming any sentiment of friend- 
ship for those so trusted. It was as though he 
said, I think aloud, and you hear my thoughts ; 
but I have no feeling of friendship towards you, 
though you might imagine I have from the con- 
fidence I repose in you. Do not deceive yourself; 
few, if any, are worthy of my friendship; and 
only one or two possess even a portion of it. I 
think not of you but as the first recipient for the 
- disclosures that I have le besoin to make, and as 
an admirer whom I can make administer to my 
vanity, by exciting in turn surprise, wonder, and 
admiration ; but I can have no sympathy with 
you. 

Byron, in all his intercourse with acquaintances, 
proved that he wanted the simplicity and good 
faith of uncivilized life, without having acquired 
the tact and fine perception that throws a veil 
over the artificial coldness and selfishness of re- 
fined civilization, which must be concealed to be 
rendered endurable. To keep alive sympathy, 
there must be a reciprocity of feelings ; and this 
Byron did not, or would not, understand. It was 



378 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

the want of this, or rather the studied display of 
the want, that deprived him of the affection that 
would otherwise have been unreservedly accorded 
to him, and which he had so many qualities cal- 
culated to call forth. Those who have known 
Byron only in the turmoil and feverish excitation 
of a London life, may not have had time or 
opportunity to be struck with this defalcation in 
his nature ; or, if they observed it, might natur- 
ally attribute it to the artificial state of society in 
London, which more or less affects all its mem- 
bers ; but when he was seen in the isolation of 
a foreign land, with few acquaintances, and fewer 
friends, to make demands either on his time or 
his sympathy, this extreme egoism became strik- 
ingly visible, and repelled the affection that must 
otherwise have replaced the admiration to which 
he never failed to give birth. 

Byron had thought long and profoundly on 
man and his vices — natural and acquired — he 
generalized and condemned en masse, in theory ; 
while, in practice, he was ready to allow the ex- 
ceptions to his general rule. He had commenced 
his travels ere yet age or experience had rendered 
him capable of forming a just estimate of the 
civilized world he had left, or the uncivilized one 
he was exploring ; hence he saw both through a 
false medium, and observed not that their advan- 



WITH LOED BYRON. 379 

tages and disadvantages were counterbalanced. 
Byron wished for that Utopian state of perfection 
which experience teaches us it is impossible to 
attain — the simplicity and good faith of savage 
life, with the refinement and intelligence of civil- 
ization. Naturally of a melancholy temperament, 
his travels in Greece were eminently calculated to 
give a still more sombre tint to his mind, and trac- 
ing at each step the marks of degradation which 
had followed a state of civilization still more lux- 
urious than that he had left; and surrounded with 
the fragments of arts that we can but imperfectly 
copy, and ruins whose original beauty we can 
never hope to emulate, he grew into a contempt 
of the actual state of things, and lived but in 
dreams of the past, or aspirations of the future. 
This state of mind, as unnatural as it is uncom- 
mon in a young man, destroyed the bonds of 
sympathy between him and those of his own age, 
without creating any with those of a more ad- 
vanced. With the young he could not sympa- 
thize, because they felt not like him ; and with 
the old, because that, though their reasonings and 
reflections arrived at the same conclusions, they 
had not journeyed by the same road. They had 
travelled by the beaten one of experience, but he 
had abridged the road, having been hurried over 
it by the passions which were still unexhausted 



380 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 

and ready to go in search of new discoveries. 
The wisdom thus prematurely acquired by Byron 
being the forced fruit of circumstances and travail 
acting on an excitable mind, instead of being the 
natural production ripened by time, was, like all 
precocious advantages, of comparatively little 
utility ; it influenced his words more than his 
deeds, and wanted that patience and forbearance 
towards the transgressions of others that is best 
acquired by having suffered from and repented 
our own. 

It would be a curious speculation to reflect how 
far the mind of Byron might have been differently 
operated on, had he, instead of going to Greece 
in his early youth, spent the same period beneath 
the genial climate and surrounded by the luxuries, 
of Italy. We should then, most probably, have 
had a "Don Juan" of a less reprehensible char- 
acter, and more excusable from the youth of its 
author, followed in natural succession, by aton- 
ing works produced by the autumnal sun of ma- 
turity, and the mellowing touches of experience 
instead of his turning from the more elevated tone 
of " Childe Harold " to " Don Juan." Each year, 
had life been spared him, would have corrected 
the false wisdom that had been the bane of Byron, 
and which, like the fruit so eloquently described 
by himself as growing on the banks of the Dead 



WITH LORD BYRON. 381 

Sea, that was lovely to the eye, but turned to 
ashes when tasted, was productive only of disap- 
pointment to him, because he mistook it for the 
real fruit its appearance resembled, and found only 
bitterness in its taste. 

There was that in Byron which would have yet 
nobly redeemed the errors of his youth, and the 
misuse of his genius, had length of years been 
granted him ; and, while lamenting his premature 
death, our regret is rendered the more poignant 
by the reflection, that we are deprived of works 
which, tempered by an understanding arrived at 
its meridian, would have had all the genius, with- 
out the immorality of his more youthful produc- 
tions, which, notwithstanding their defects, have 
formed an epoch in the literature of his country. 



THE END. 



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